


Care in Different Guises

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Anal Sex, BDSM, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Boot Worship, CBT, Cock Rings, Comeplay, Coming Out, Consensual Non-Consent, Cutting, Daddy Kink, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Embarrassment, Energy Play, Explicit Consent, Face Slapping, Finger Sucking, Friends to Lovers, Hand Feeding, Handcuffs, Kink Community, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation Is More Fun with Friends, Mindfuck, Molestation Play, Orgasm Control, Over the Knee, Plushies, Power Exchange, Psychological Kink, Public Play, Red Pants, Relationship Negotiation, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Spanking, Spit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a Daddy kink. Greg is surprisingly understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter mostly just involves talking about age play and some related dirty talk, but keep in mind that age play and Daddy kink are a major theme of this story. I suspect that there will be (primary school-aged) regression as this fic progresses and a fair bit of emotional and psychological kink as this story progresses, as well as incest roleplay and some dark ageplay. I'll try to warn by chapter for the heavier stuff, but if consensual age play isn't your thing you should skip this story.

“You’re a right lucky sod, you know that?” Greg says as they slide into a booth at the back of a quiet pub near the Met, somewhere not too frequented by coppers where they can talk undisturbed. John raises his eyebrows, taking a sip of his Scotch as he eyes Greg incredulously. _Lucky_ certainly isn’t what he feels tonight. More embarrassed than he can remember being in his life, yes. Ashamed, yes. Sheepish, certainly. He’d be on his way back to Baker Street with his tail tucked between his legs had Greg not insisted on a chat first. As it is, he needs the rare indulgence in liquor rather than his usual pint to get through this conversation, and he’s glad he made it a double.

“That’s not the word I’d use. Christ, Greg. I feel like a bleeding idiot.”

The Inspector shrugs and sips from his own pint. “Maybe. But you’d be in a lot more trouble if Mycroft hadn’t erased those ASBOs from your record a while back, and if I hadn’t been in the office to vouch for you. If Sargeant Monaghan hadn’t recognized my name when you gave it. As it is, you’re off with a warning and you’re unlikely to have to testify. I'm sure Sherlock would have a field day if you had to go to court to talk about the sadists and drug dealers in your personal circle."

“He’ll find out anyway,” John sighs, and maybe that’s the worst of it. He tips back half of the double shot in one go, imagining Sherlock’s reaction to the news. He’ll get it from Mycroft, at least. Greg’s too good to pass it on. But the fact that Greg _knows_ is embarrassing enough. At least he wasn’t the one conducting the raid, didn’t see John on his stomach on a filthy floor, licking another military man’s boots.

“Probably,” Greg admits. “But y’know what I don’t understand, John, is why _that_ place? There are nicer parties, you know that right? The scene may not be strictly legal but there are places where you’d be less likely to get caught. Vice only targeted that club because of the drug dealing and rumors of minors involved.”

“I know that.” John blushes. “But I wasn’t going to run into anyone I knew there. Far too… grungy, I suppose. More likely to run into a familiar criminal than a friend.”

Greg smiles warmly. “You know I don’t judge you, right? You’re not the only one attracted to blokes… I respect that you’re closeted.”

John’s eyebrows go up at that, because it really isn’t an expected admission, but it’s not the heart of the matter either. “Oh. Uh… well, thank you, but that’s not it. I mean, that’s not why I didn’t want to get caught.”

“S&M’s hardly a fringe thing these days.”

“No, but…” John tosses back the rest of his whisky, signals a waitress for another. “Look… I don’t know what’s in the report. I don’t know what Mycroft will be able to read. And I have certain… kinks, fetishes, whatever word you want to use… that would change the way he sees me. The way you and Sherlock see me. I don’t want that to happen.” He shakes his head, clenching one hand into a fist on the tabletop. “I should leave well enough alone, indulging didn’t make it any better.”

“Maybe. Holding back doesn’t usually work that well either, though. Trust me on this one.” Greg grins, a genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, and John can almost see the recollection drifting through the memory centers of his brain. “I can’t speak for the Holmes boys, but they’re hardly likely to persecute abnormality. And I’m not going to look at you any different because of what you like in the bedroom.”

“Right.” John snorts, shakes his head, and drinks liberally from the new whisky glass he’s just been served. “This isn’t fuzzy handcuffs or _50 Shades of Grey_ , Greg. It’s not… a pretty thing. I’m not proud of what I like.”

“Does it make you happy?”

John frowns, feeling a little less solid from the quickly-imbibed alcohol, a little freer. “Happy… I don’t know if that’s the word. It makes me… relieved. I think. It hasn’t been exactly what I’d hoped for, in practice.”

“No? What’ve you hoped for, then?” Greg’s sitting back casually, sipping his beer, and John looks at him for a long moment before answering.

“Release. No…” He clenches his fist again, takes another sip. “Grounding. Can you be grounded and feel freed at the same time?” John laughs, shakes his head. “Bugger all. I honestly want to tell you. How good are you at keeping a secret? I mean… a really secret secret. No mentioning anonymously to a mate that doesn’t know me in passing, no talking to your therapist… I’m only thinking about telling you because I’ve never fucking told anyone, not directly like this. And I like you.” He smiles, feeling the obvious fuzz of alcohol on his brain. But he has wanted to talk. Maybe he’s not as drunk as he thinks--maybe it’s an excuse.

Greg pauses before he answers, obviously considering it. “As long as you’re not seriously putting yourself in physical harm--as long as it’s not... hard drugs, or something physically more dangerous than responsible bloodplay or breathplay or needles, something like that, then yeah, I can keep it to myself.” John’s not too drunk to notice that Greg’s aware of such things, but he files that away for later.

“I like authority figures,” he blurts out.

“That it?” Greg’s looking at him like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, and John sighs.

“Really, really like. I mean… not just authority, I like discipline. I like… being humiliated,” John adds when he doesn’t get the shocked reaction he’s expecting. He just wants Greg to _understand_ , and the more he gets that calm and gentle expression in return, the more he wants to rattle his friend and feel like he truly has this off his chest. And so he takes another drink and offers details. “I can’t explain it when I’m on the pull. I don’t even want to _talk_ to the people who've dominated me, honestly I’m just a little needy piece of shit to them, and I don’t need to hear that after the scene's over, but I can get what I want for the most part. There are a lot of men in uniform in the scene, people willing to put you on the floor and make you beg for it. I'm good at spotting them in a crowd.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I suppose I could get closer to my objective if I were willing to pay for it, but I haven’t crossed that line yet. And sometimes it doesn’t work out and I get angry, and then I leave in worse shape than I came in. I haven’t really done it much…”

Greg cuts his rambling off mid-sentence, reaching out and grabbing his wrist. His grip is firm, and John stops talking immediately. Greg’s eyes are still warm, but his gaze is direct. “What’s your objective?” he asks. “Your actual objective that you’re not quite getting at. ‘Cause I think you do know what it is, and you haven’t said anything yet that’s freaking me out, John.”

John worries his lip a little between his teeth. Greg doesn’t let go. “I want... a father figure. A Daddy,” he pretty much whispers, deflating. The manic energy of spilling his guts leaves as quickly as it came, because it’s easy enough to talk vaguely about “authority figures” and uniforms and being put on the ground, embarrassing but not nearly as vulnerable as this. His eyes dart to the table and he considers having a panic attack.

“There you are,” Greg says in a warm tone that’s full of praise and makes the smile John can’t actually look at clearly audible. It catches him off guard and makes him listen. “Bet that’s a lot scarier in your head.”

John’s eyes flick up then, incredulous. “Did you even hear me?” he hisses. “I want a _Daddy_ , Greg. Not like a leather Daddy, an actual... I mean, I don’t just want someone to hold me down and fucking spank me, I want to suck my bloody thumb and have someone ‘teach’ me about the body parts and be in an ongoing relationship like that and do all sorts of sick shit that I’ve been fantasizing about since God _knows_ how long and…”

“ _John_.” Again, the tone is enough to stop him in his tracks. He hitches in a breath, watching Greg’s eyes. “That is not, by far, the most unusual thing I’ve ever heard related to sex. And I’m not going to listen to you say that your perfectly natural kinks are sick, because they’re important to you and they’re not harming anyone and for that matter you’re making plenty of other blokes look bad by describing what you like like that. Do you think your potential Daddy out there,” he continues, lowering his voice, “would appreciate you framing his desires as sick and embarrassing?”

 

John swallows hard, the question pulling him up short and forcing him to engage his brain. “I… what? I mean, I haven't thought about that,” he answers honestly, suddenly feeling ashamed in a different way. In truth he hasn't bothered to imagine that his fantasy man, or someone with similar kinks from the other role, might actually exist beyond freaks and pedophiles. “I didn’t mean that anyone else… I mean…”

“Of course you didn’t. But you don’t get to be gentle with everyone else in the world and harsh with yourself. Physician heal thyself,” Greg replies lightly, his tone gently teasing. His thumb strokes slowly over John’s pulse at the inside of his wrist, grip loosening. “Unless, of course, that’s what you want. If the idea of it being sick and disgusting is an important part of the fantasy. In which case, that’s your prerogative, though I think you should consider finding someone who really knows what they’re doing and can give you proper aftercare if that's where you want to go with it. There's a difference between enjoying objectification and debasement and feeling shit about yourself outside of play.”

“No,” John says softly. “I don’t think that's what I want. Not really. Well… maybe a bit? I get off on humiliation in some scenes, but with this it’s more… Sometimes I fantasize about being a bit embarrassed in a childish way. More erotic embarrassment than serious humiliation. Teasing in a nurturing context." He glances at the table, cheeks feeling hot.

Greg nods. “A far cry from the way you’re beating yourself up right now. I want you to…” He falters for a moment, for the first time in the conversation, and his gaze shifts to the right, hand combing through his hair. “Christ, I really shouldn’t.”

John frowns. “Do you need to go?”

“No, no, s’not what I meant. I think… there’s a fragile line I need to be aware of right now. While you’re confiding in me as a friend. And… a bit drunk,” Greg grins, and John returns it bashfully. “I don’t want you to ever think you did the wrong thing by telling me. But I’d also like to talk some more. Once you’ve had a couple of days to think about it.”

“All right. I suppose I’m going to feel like a right idiot by then.”

“Don’t.” Greg squeezes John’s wrist, then finally lets go. “And if you’re feeling shaky, or fearful, or like you might have a panic attack, between now and then, I want you to ring me. Day or night. That’s non-negotiable, understood?”

John hesitates, then nods. “I suppose.”

“Good. I mean that.” Greg pauses. “You should be proud of yourself, John. You’ve been through the ringer tonight. But you’ve taken a good, healthy step in talking about it. _I’m_ proud of you.”

“Oh,” John says, blushing and feeling that it’s rather undeserved. But despite that, the praise settles somewhere in his chest and tentatively takes hold.

~*~

John doesn't want to ring. He's actually glaring at his phone, even as the walls of his darkened bedroom close in and his chest feels tight. Somehow, he can't ignore what Greg made him promise, though. Perhaps it's the direct order from a police officer, and Greg's a sneaky fuck if he exploited that on purpose, but John can't just pretend he didn't hear it. To compromise, he finally grabs the phone and sends a text.

1:15

Lestrade. You awake?

_1:15_

_First names, John, really. I am. How are you feeling?_

1:16

Not great, honestly.

1:16

Scared.

_1:16_

_Good, you're being honest. I'm glad. Where are you now?_

1:16

My room. In bed.

_1:17_

_Lights on? If not, turn on a lamp. And while you're at it, go downstairs and brew a cup of tea. Loo if you need. I'll wait._

1:21

Okay. I'm back.

_1:21_

_Good. Can you talk about what's scaring you?_

1:22

What we talked about last night.

1:22

I can't stop thinking what my Mum would say. Harry would take the piss. My army buddies.

_1:23_

_Don't think of them. They don't matter for this. Honestly, do YOU want to know what your Mum's up to in bed?_

1:23

Greg!

_1:23_

_I'm serious! You're thinking of the opinions of uninformed parties who would be weirded out thinking about your sex life anyway. I have a better idea._

_1:24_

_Put those people away for now and think about your Daddy instead. Picture him now. Someone full of love for you, his perfect baby boy, who would be so worried and protective if he knew how scared you were feeling right now._

1:26

Is this okay? Is it uncomfortable for you to say these things?

_1:26_

_Not at all, John. Are you thinking about him?_

1:27

You know I am.

_1:27_

_Good. Each time you feel this way, think about him instead. When you feel shame, think about the pride your Daddy would feel in you. I bet he'd be disappointed to hear that you're disparaging his lifestyle so much in your head._

1:28

Are you trying psychology tricks on me?

_1:28_

_Are they working?_

_1:30_

_John?_

1:30

I never imagined anyone else saying that word. Daddy. Without judgment.

_1:30_

_It's a title, not an insult. Does it feel nice to think it? Or to think about me saying it?_

1:31

Yes. Scary too, I think. It’s always seemed like something younger, prettier men did. People who seem more like “boys.” Or like something only unattractive weirdos who can't get a date think about. But maybe thinking about you saying it's not bad scary.

_1:31_

_Sounds like a step in the right direction._

_1:32_

_John, do you ever intentionally go into a little boy headspace? Have you regressed?_

1:32

I don't think so.

1:33

That was a lie.

1:34

Fuck.

_1:34_

_Take your time._

1:37

Yes. During beatings. Few times. Not really intentional, nothing I told anyone about.

_1:37_

_Then I want you to be as gentle as you can to that little boy. I wouldn't blame him for being a bit shy, if he's only been allowed out when he's hurting and being called bad grownup names._

1:39

Please say you're not taking the piss.

_1:39_

_Never._

_1:40_

_I'm dead serious, John. That little boy matters, and I know it's hard but you may need to take care of him when there's not a Daddy around to do it._

1:40

That sounds kind of ridiculous. But I'll try.

_1:41_

_Good boy._

_1:41_

_Shit, sorry. It's late._

_1:41_

_Good, I meant._

_1:41_

_Getting sleepy?_

1:42

Yeah. Thanks, Greg. Sorry to keep you up.

_1:42_

_Not at all. I mean it. Ring when you need. And I meant it about that talk. Wednesday night work?_

1:42

Should do. Just text me if work comes up, and I'll do same?

_1:43_

_Sounds good. Otherwise 20 00, my flat. Pick up whatever takeaway you like. But nothing stronger than beer._

1:45

All right. I'll see you then. Thank you for all this.

_1:46_

_My pleasure, John. Sweet dreams._

~*~

Nervous as he is about discussing this again, out loud and sober, John's at least grateful he doesn't have to try to deceive his undeceivable flatmate when he leaves for Greg's place. Sherlock barely acknowledges when John says he's headed to Greg's for dinner, absorbed in an experiment, and if he knows about John's run-in with the coppers at the weekend he hasn't said anything.

Instead of proper takeaway John phones in an order to pick up at Angelo's, figuring the least he can do in exchange for Greg's immensely open mind and understanding nature is provide some really good food. He gets a half-bottle of red at the off license and arrives a few minutes after eight.

"Ooh, that smells fantastic," Greg grins as he lets John in. "Italian?"

"Lasagna, Alfredo, and extra garlic bread, at your service."

"Perfect. Haven't eaten since breakfast," Greg admits. "Wrapping up a case." He grabs the brown bag and the bottle from John, heading towards the kitchen. "Toss your jacket wherever. Did his nibs mind me borrowing you for the evening?"

"Didn't notice. Typical." John smiles to himself as he joins Greg in the kitchen, taking the corkscrew he's offered and opening the wine. "I don't think Mycroft's said anything about what happened. Or maybe Sherlock considers such trifles beneath him."

"Either way, good news for you." Greg grins and clinks his glass to John's once they're both poured. "To Sherlock Holmes being as far in the dark as possible about his friends' sex lives."

"Oh God." John splutters with laughter before he drinks. "I’ll drink to that."

"But really, how are you since Monday? And do you want a little bit of everything?" Greg asks before he starts serving onto mismatched plates.

"Please. I'm... okay, I suppose? That thing you suggested... helps." John looks down at the counter, sipping his wine as if that will excuse the flush in his cheeks.

"By that thing, you mean thinking about your hypothetical Daddy." Greg's smiling when John looks up, gently chiding. "It helps to say it out loud, believe me. You have to normalize it. I was pretty young when I got into all the D/s stuff, but it wasn't until I started treating it as fairly average that I really grew into my own skin, sexuality-wise."

"Wait, seriously? D/s as in dom and sub stuff?"

Greg taps the side of his nose before picking up the plates, taking them to the table. "For twenty-five years, give or take. Didn't seem right to bring up when you were drunk and freaking out. But yeah. Don't really have a vanilla bone in my body."

"Wow." John sits down and sips his wine, processing that. "I've never seen you out, though. Even when I tried, uh... classier parties."

Greg laughs. "I haven't done play parties in a long time. One, the job. Two, I was married for a long time. But I'm more of a relationship player, anyway. I've never met the people I connected with that way _at_ a public event."

"So like, bedroom kink stuff? Thorns with your roses?"

Greg smirks. "I said relationships, John, I didn't say _gentle_. I play fairly heavy, once I get to know someone. I just want that time, and I prefer the emotional side of power exchange... that requires significant trust. Besides, I tend to get wrapped up in a submissive, so my focus gets pretty intense for casual play partners. I mean, the last time it happened, I married her."

"Right. Wow. I'm just... trying to reconcile this in my head. Though... maybe it makes some sense," John admits, thinking of how easily Greg's taken hold of his own situation and managed his emotional state. "You're a good man to have around in a crisis."

"Perhaps out of one, too," Greg teases. "I have to admit, when you were freaking out on me in the pub my instinct was to tell you exactly what to do next. But that wouldn't have been right, not given how you were feeling at the time."

"I kind of wish you had," John admits quietly, feeling the blush return. Greg's not an unattractive man, and he's looked before, if not with any expectation of possibility. "But you're right. And what you said over text was perfect."

"I just want you to know that you can come to me. If you need to talk without being censored. Or want to practice the saying it out loud thing. For that matter... if you think you could enjoy playing with someone a little more safe."

John's eyebrows go up at the frank proposition, though he has to finish chewing his lasagne before he can respond. "Is that a serious offer? I thought you didn't do casual."

"I'm not offering casual." Greg's gaze is direct as he takes a sip of wine, unhurried. "There's hardly more of the general getting-to-know-you I could do in your case, John. I'm saying that if you'd like to see what kind of chemistry we have in that context, and if you're willing to try playing in a less shady space with someone who knows what you like and will see you in the daylight, I'm interested. Would have expressed interest before, if I knew you were kinky and liked men."

"Oh." John stares a moment, then bursts into a grin. "Shit. Yeah. I mean... absolutely I'd like that. With you. It's not that those parties are my _preference_ , just..."

"The only option."

"Yeah," John agrees. "They have been." He grins some more and then eats some garlic bread, trying not to look too desperate. "What do you like, though? Do you think we're likely to match up on anything?"

"I think it's certainly possible. I like a boy who can do as he's told. If he _likes_ doing as he's told, even better."

John blushes a bit. "I... like following orders. If someone's strict about it, even better."

"Well, I can be very demanding. Too demanding for some people."

"I like a challenge." John grins.

"Please note my _utter_ lack of surprise," Greg parries, his tone dry. "I can be sadistic. I'm most interested in reactions, though. I like talking a boy through pain, making him process it. I like taking the time to find that point of complete surrender."

John swallows. "I... uh... am I going to be expected to finish this meal?"

"Yes," Greg's grin is shark-like. "I told you I was hungry. And this food is delicious."

"Careful, next time I'll want to bring you crap."

"Try it and see what happens."

"Promises, promises."

"You say that, but my punishments are never pleasant," Greg warns. "I don't do well with bratting."

John smiles. "I'm only teasing. Believe me, Sherlock is all the brat I need in my life."

"That's something of a relief. But I wouldn't have pegged you for bratty, anyway. I'm a pretty good read on people."

"Yeah? What do you read about me, then?"

"Well, obedient, obviously. Eager to please in particular. Hedonistic, I think, more than masochistic, but willing to take pain. I think you crave subspace but probably find it difficult to come up from. How’m I doing so far?"

"Um... good." John blushes.

"Eat your pasta. Let’s see, what else," Greg muses when John's twirled some Alfredo around his fork. "I think you find relief in being pushed. You can have vanilla sex, but you find it frustrating. You like strict protocols and structure; you miss that about the Army. You might get off on fear or a mindfuck sometimes, but it's psychologically jarring. You get off on feeling a bit wrong, maybe because of the taboo itself but probably for other reasons as well. Given what you've said about your particular kink, you like nurturing combined with a firm hand, feeling cared for but perhaps a bit exploited as well. You like men who can make you feel small, which is hard given your own strength and the tendency of others to get you there through harsh treatment that's not exactly what you want, even if it has to be enough sometimes."

"God," John mutters. "You're the Sherlock Holmes of sex."

At that, Greg gives a full-bellied laugh, his face warm and unencumbered. It makes John feel warm inside himself to have caused it.

"Part of me is hopeful. I have... some degree of a nurturing streak. But don't get too excited. I've been told more than once that it can be smothering. I get a bit obsessive sometimes in relationships."

"Mm." John nods, doesn't disagree because he doesn't have firsthand experience and Greg would just volley back. Instead, he takes another bite and then voices a thought. "I honestly am not sure what a first scene would look like with someone I _give_ a shit about. But I would like to be on my knees for you. That's quite clear in my head right now." He makes himself boldly meet Greg's eyes, despite his nerves, and is rewarded with a slow, wide grin.

"Oh yeah. Don't worry, I can think of about fifteen things I'd like to do you. But since you mentioned it... I'm not really prepared to play tonight, but do you think you'd like to spend some time on your knees for me after dinner? We'll call it a prologue."

At that, John's smile goes cheeky. "Would that be the with or without the cocksucking kind of time on my knees? The answer is yes, by the way."

Greg laughs. "Great, now that you've said it, I should be Mister Sadistic Domly Dom and say no. But John Watson is offering me a blowjob."

"He is. Interested?"

"Sure I am, cocky boy." Greg licks his lips. "Finish your tea."

~*~

"Fuckin’ ‘ell, that mouth." Greg groans and fists his hands in John's hair. "Use your tongue boy, that's good. I'll fuck your face next time if you'd like."

John groans with his mouth full, though in truth he's enjoying this more decadent, lights-on kind of blowjob. He rarely has a chance to take his time, or wants to. But he found himself really _eager_ to see what would come out of Greg's fly, and another time he hopes he'll have a chance to get Greg fully naked so that John can taste his thighs and spend some quality time licking his balls. For now, he indulges himself sucking at the head and licking it like a lolly, occasionally taking the shaft down his throat. As he starts to get really into it, Greg right there with him, he stops trying to blink up seductively at the more dominant man and closes him eyes, moaning at the taste and the smell without his sight. Greg's large hands tug gently at his hair, then one cups at the base of his skull and John moans deep in his throat to encourage. The hand squeezes there, and John continues his task, reassured, finally sticking to rhythmic suction and a gentle hum.

 _Slut_ , his mind tells him, but it's not entirely unkind. He likes cocksucking. He can live with that, especially when his mind trails back to Greg's earlier tone, to the texts. That gentle affirmation in the bar, the tone of voice clearly communicating good boy, even if Greg didn't say it. The words Greg uses without hesitation. Baby boy, little boy, worried, concerned, protective Daddy. John groans and sucks hard, feeling his teeth dig into his lip. _Fuck me, Daddy_ , his brain supplies, and he won't censor it yet for this non-consensual borrowing of Greg for his deepest fantasies. It'd hardly surprise him, at this point.

Greg's muttering something above him, but John doesn't process any words, just a constant mental litany of _fuck me, fuck me, fuck your baby, Daddy_ , and it takes him by surprise when the hard length in his mouth floods his throat. He sputters a bit, eyes flicking open, but Greg tugs him hard by the hair and holds him there, words finally filtering up through John's conscious. "Fuck, oh _fuck_ , choke on it, you _gorgeous_ little boy, that's so good..."

John moans, even as he's coughing a bit, and it's not the most elegant way to swallow, but Greg seems to appreciate it, laughing warmly. "Sorry, sorry, I just... you _beautiful_ , dirty little fuck," he exclaims as he slips out of John's mouth, and then he's leaning down eagerly before John can say anything, grabbing John's face and licking the come from his lips, sweeping his tongue through John's mouth and holding him in a vicious, dirty kiss. John moans and grabs at Greg's arms, just for a handhold.

"I wanted to give you some more floor time," Greg murmurs, low and intimate, smiling against lips. "But suddenly there's something else I need. Come up ‘ere. In my lap, baby."

John's a little wide-eyed, but more than half in subspace, and just scrambles up into Greg's lap, carefully arranging himself so he's not causing sensitive parts any pain. Greg wraps him in a bear hug from behind--who knew the DI was so snuggly?--and tugs John's zipper down. "Wanna make you feel good, baby," Greg slurs, taking John's hand and guiding it to his own erection. "Touch your prick for me, baby, that's it."

It's a common enough term of endearment--but is Greg using it on purpose? It could so easily be something else. Daddy's baby. Baby boy. John doesn't care if that's not Greg's kink, it so fucking works. He holds himself more gently than usual and lightly but quickly frigs his cock, feeling Greg's warm guiding hand around his own. "Please," John whimpers, desperate after only a minute of direct touch.

"Ah, there’s a good lad," Greg murmurs. "Tug on your prick with me," he whispers in John's ear, and then tongues around the rim, giving the lobe a tug with his teeth. "Just like a big boy."

And with that, John's almost choking for the second time tonight, gasping for air and jerking hard in Greg's lap. Greg's free arm clamps down across his chest, holding John hard against him, and his vision goes prickly for a few moments, he comes so hard. It takes a minute to even process the sweet, gentle words in his ear, and then Greg's rubbing his own messy hand in gentle circles on John's own belly, shirt rucked up, telling him what a good, sweet, dirty little boy he's been. Fuck it. He just lets himself float, out of it, as Greg squeezes him and lets a hand rest gently on his throat.

"Do you want your floor time, baby? Or are you happy here?" Greg asks, gentle and cooing, like a kind primary school teacher might speak to the shyer children.

"S'good like this," John mumbles, curling up and tucking his head under Greg's chin. He doesn't recognize the quality of his own voice, and perhaps he should care, but spacing out like this is good. _Very_ _good_ , he decides as Greg's hand starts to trace long, slow, steady lines down his spine.

~*~

When John wakes, it's completely dark in the flat. He's curled up against Greg's chest, and the DI is snoring softly near his ear. He blinks a few times, hesitant to believe this is possibly real. But he has to piss, which is a good sign of reality, so he nudges Greg, whose arm is firmly bracing him in place.

"Hey," he says softly. "It's late. And I have to pee."

Greg chuckles and kisses the top of John's head, reaching for the lamp. "First door on the right down the corridor there. Don't worry, I texted Sherlock that you were a bit pissed and might not be home tonight. I don't have to be in till 8:30, so no worries if you kip here the rest of the night."

"Ah, cheers," John agrees, smiling as he stands and stretches his back. "Though preferably not on the sofa."

"No," Greg agrees, getting up with him. “Should be a spare toothbrush in one of the drawers. Come to the bedroom when you're done."

"Oh, yes, Sir," John grins, giving him a cheeky wink as he heads to the powder room to piss and brush his teeth. Greg's laugh is deep and sincere.

When John comes into the bedroom, Greg's finishing up in the en suite, so John strips down--grateful he didn't actually come in his pants--and slides under the covers. Greg's grinning when he comes into the room.

"Oh look, a boy all tucked up tight in my bed for me. Thank you, Santa."

John snickers. "Santa would be traumatized."

"Santa's heard worse," Greg counters, getting into bed with him and immediately manhandling John into a snuggle. "This okay? I'm pretty tactile."

"Perfect." John grins. "Seems to be going around tonight."

"Mmm. I'd say so. Hey, I want you to know something, in case you wondered."

"Yeah?"

"About the words I use. I'm not going to say _my_ boy, or anything to suggest I'm your Sir, or your Daddy, unless we've established that. I take those roles really seriously...they wouldn't be roles at all to me, with you. But I want you to know that not using the words doesn't mean lack of desire or anything like that on my part.” He smiles sheepishly. “I've confused partners about that in the past."

"Oh... Not at all." John smiles. "I... uh.... when I was..."

"Use your words," Greg teases.

"When I was sucking you," John restarts, bluntly, always responding to a challenge, "I felt a little guilty because I was fantasizing...about my kink. I didn't want to do that nonconsensually to you but your language, it seemed like... well, maybe it was unintentional..."

"It wasn't," Greg interrupts, more serious, voice low, his hand reaching to brush through John's hair. "I don't know all the ins and outs of your kinks, and I would never want to rush into trying to be _your_ Daddy, because that's a promise and a responsibility. But I'm not opposed to the idea of age play. It doesn't turn me off. You're more than welcome to fantasize about it while we play. And the idea of taking care of you, making those secret places inside you come out and play so that you can be proud of them, revel in your deepest kinks and all that, _really_ turns me on." Greg grins. "I like providing guidance. That part's really hot. Not something I get a chance to do much, since I'm not a cradle robber."

John laughs, chest filling with warmth. "Well ... I'm hardly young. But I am weirdly inexperienced, in this kind of mix. Kink with... care, I suppose. Caring men in general, really," he admits. "But that's part of John Watson's long and complicated tale of bisexuality, which requires an entire weekend and a lot of beer."

Greg chuckles and kisses him. "I look forward to hearing it. But now, I think it's lights out for sleepy boys," he says with a mischievous look.

John groans. "God damn."

Greg just turns out the light, then goes back to snuggling John like an octopus, pulling him into a comfortable spoon. "I am _really_ going to enjoy how easy it is to do that to you..." he muses, and John just sighs. Really, he can hardly complain.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly porn. More of John's Daddy kink. And a little bit of Sherlock being disturbed for good measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind comments. It always makes me happy to tap into kinks people didn't even known they were looking for, and I'll certainly be getting to more of the negotiation and psychological stuff that everyone enjoyed as this goes on. Though I'm not the quickest updater, I don't abandon stories, so expect slow but steady updates.

It takes Sherlock three days to deduce it. He looks at John strangely for about ten minutes after John laughs and blushes in response to a text message, then blurts out "You are engaged in a sexual relationship with Detective Inspector Lestrade." He's silent, then blinks, double-taking, and makes a sour lemon face. " _That_  one was unexpected. Never discuss it again?"

John smirks, a bit relieved. "Deal." 

Greg is a consummate professional when he calls them in for a case--a five, Sherlock solves it in four and a half hours and then berates Greg for bringing it to him--but he does give John one of those smiles that makes him look fifteen years younger, and he asks John to come over at the weekend. Sherlock doesn't even notice his leaving the flat.

"You do have a lovely arse," Greg comments cheerfully as John takes the remains of their takeaway to put in the kitchen bin.

"Ta, I think."

"Would you like me to spank it or fuck it first?" Greg asks with another one of his grins when John returns to the sofa.

"Christ, Greg." John scrubs a hand through his hair. "Both? Either?" 

"Greedy. C'mere, love." John approaches the sofa, and before he can sit down, Greg tugs him in to straddle his lap.

"You're hard already," Greg observes, grin more shark-like than his normal smile. "Tell me why."

John blushes. "Because being here makes me think about how far you might let me go." 

"Mmm." Greg rests a hand casually on the back of John's thigh, gripping it as he kisses him. "Interesting choice of words. You think you want to go farther than I'll let you?"

"Than you'll let me tonight, maybe." John smiles. "You did say you don't rush into these things. I'm a bit bad about that."

"Yeah?" Greg laughs. "Fuck if I couldn't fall in love with you, Watson," he says, and then kisses John messily before he can think too much about it. 

They kiss for long minutes, Greg holding John firmly in place, touching him indiscriminately. His voice is gravel when he pulls away again. "If you were mine..." he rasps, and John swallows hard just as a hand comes up to actress his throat, "it wouldn't be easy to take back. I'd be bloody serious about it."

"I certainly hope so. If you're going to talk me out of this, Inspector, keep in mind that I live with Sherlock Holmes. I'm not easily swayed." 

"No," Greg agrees softly, gently holding him by the jaw. "You're not." He kisses John for another long interval, then finally breathes against his lips. "Over my lap."

John's eyes widen a bit. He has experience, but he's never had an over-the-knee spanking before, and the idea makes him feel suddenly vulnerable. Without missing a beat, Greg smacks his thigh, and the impact makes him move, rearranging himself so that he's draped sideways over Greg's thighs, angled a bit with his legs to the floor and his chest partly on the sofa, forearms bracing him. Greg reaches under and takes his time unbuckling and removing John's belt, then undoing his flies, before shoving the whole kit down. It traps John's knees together, but leaves his arse well exposed. He expects a slap, but instead gets a firm rub, one large hand caressing the skin. Greg pinches at random intervals, getting John into a state of partial relaxation before he starts to slap, light little flutters of palm connecting with cheek. It's outside of John's experience, and he wants Greg to go harder, to actually  _hit_ him. When he starts to squirm, though, Greg holds him firmly with an arm bracing his upper body and maintains the pace.

 "Give me this," he growls, and John stops squirming but mentally lets himself feel disappointment--that Greg's a good dom, a good person, but fundamentally his  _sweet_ nature may conflict with what John wants, with the rather extreme juxtaposition of his kinks for tender and mean or inappropriate at the same time. Still, the gentle, unrelenting slaps irk at John, unsettle and even upset him. 

Occasionally, Greg varies the pace with a harder smack, and John tries to buck up, silently begging. Still, it doesn't quite escalate. Perhaps those harder smacks are supposed to his reward...and it's not even that John needs heavy sadism in play. It's just that this gentleness is oddly hard to take, putting him off balance. It's making him itch, and he finally just opens his mouth. 

"Damnit, Sir, can't you  _hit_ me?"

 "Oh,  _can_ I," Greg agrees, but he doesn't start whaling on John, even so. "At  _my_  pace, young man," Greg rebukes, bending to John's ear to demand it. "Now  _behave._ " He pops John hard, once, and then goes back to simply warning the skin, but something breaks open at his words and John finds himself gasping for air, not quite sure what's wrong until he makes the horrifying realization that not only can he not mentally process, but he's crying. He jerks again, but Greg's arm tightens.

"Atta boy. We can get through this together, can't we? You're so sweet for me like this, so brave and trusting. I know you like excitement, Johnny, but I don't want to rush your very first spanking," Greg coos in an almost condescending tone. "I want you to enjoy playtime with me, and keep coming back again and again. We wouldn't want such a small arse to get worn out, would we, sweetheart?"

While John knows, in the back of his mind, that he in fact not  _that_  small and that he can certainly take plenty, doesn't need this kind of caution, somehow Greg's logic appeals to his hind brain. Even though he was protesting the softness, not that it was physically too much, the emotional vulnerability makes it feel like he is in fact enduring a trial, like he needs Greg's guidance. He shakes his head, rubbing his face against the cushion.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, and Greg just tuts, rubbing his arse again.

"No need to be sorry. I'm enjoying myself, lad." His fingers briefly brush John's tears away, and then he returns to spanking, this time gifting John with a gradual but steady ramp-up that he barely processes because he's so focused on being patient, being  _good._

Eventually, the swats are hard enough that his arse starts burning, and John yelps, feeling that sting of a bare hand that lets him connect most fully to his "little" self. Greg's perfect for this, too, his regressed mind feeling comforted by the larger body, the strong thigh he's draped over and the firm hand now bracing between his shoulderblades as the other rough palm spanks him. This is the first time he's been able to experience himself as a little boy without that back-of-the-mind tension and awareness that his partner would flip out if he knew. Though he doesn't have much self-awareness, the thinks perhaps it's easier, even deeper, like this. His little cries are whimpery and high pitched, his face rubbing against his arm.

"I thought you wanted it," Greg chuckles, his tone teasing. "Does your spanking make you want to wriggle some more, Johnny?"

John feels his face heat and he bites his lip, but his bum does try to writhe away from the harder strikes in a non-verbal answer. He wants a stuffed animal to hold onto, or maybe a blanket, just something to grab. He settles for sofa cushion, his arse on fire by the time Greg stops, rubbing the heated skin.

"Mmm. What do you say, Johnny?"

"Thank you," John murmurs, his voice small. He manages not to add a "Daddy" to the end, though just barely. 

"You're very welcome. I'm impressed with you, lad. You've taken an orgasm  _and_ a spanking from me like a big boy so far. We should think of some other big boy things to do together," he teases, still in kind teacher mode even as he strokes a finger between John's arse cheeks. Oh yeah, that voice is going to kill him, John decides, just pushing his arse up in agreement.

Greg laughs. "Shy boy."

"No," he protests, shaking his head.

"No? Tell me what you want, then."

"Could you hit me some more, please?" John requests, his voice a little odd compared to his usual tone but strong and sure. "If your hand's not too tired. Not all the way hard. In the middle. It makes me feel good."

"Oh yes, that's what I like to hear," Greg praises, voice suffused with pride. "Don't you worry about my hand," he teases, fingers rubbing John's perineum and the skin around his arsehole, then adds, "This isn't a punishment spanking. This is something that you want, and that I want to give you. Good boy."

John blushes unseen, uncomfortable with the praise and wanting to squirm away from the simplistic, condescending lesson. But Greg's hand keeps him motivated, gradually getting harder again, spanking him slow and steady rather than the infuriating occasional hard pops or the hardest smacks that made him want to jerk away. John starts to bliss out on it, moaning softly when the silence is too hard to hold. Then he starts wiggling, but not away this time, just to give himself some outlet for the energy and the arousal flowing through his body despite his childish headspace brought on by Greg's firm hand and nurturing tone. 

"Good boy," Greg continues to coo. "That's it baby, just like that." John's vaguely aware that he's rubbing their erections partially together with his wiggling, and the idea that Greg has a hard-on while doing this to him suddenly makes him blush with embarrassment. It doesn't matter that he's done far heavier play; right now being spanked by a man with a hard-on is the ultimate catalyst for a pink-faced John. He starts whimpering, but Greg only growls.

"I want to fuck you, baby," he rumbles, and John just whimpers again in response. "Your arse is on fire. It's going to feel so tight around my cock."

The cheeks on John's face feel even hotter than his arse, and when Greg wrenches his top half up, so that he's on his knees on the ground, he knows Greg can't help but notice his blush. But the older man just grins, predatory, and fists a hand hard in John's hair, kissing him until he starts to feel dizzy and clutches Greg's arms. "This wasn't my exact plan," Greg admits, grinning, breathless. "But I came prepared." He fishes a condom from his back pocket and tosses it onto the sofa. "Do you play with toys, baby? When you're on your own?"

John's hazy, but he nods, blushing. "Sometimes."

"Mm, good boy. The condom's lubricated. I want you to take it on spit for me, if you can."

John nods in agreement. He's coming partly out of his headspace with the talk of fucking and logistics, but still plenty submissive, and the idea of doing it  _for_  Greg sends a bolt of lust through his body. More so when Greg holds his head tipped slightly back by the hair and starts to feed John two fingers, lazily thrusting them to slide along John's tongue. He meets Greg's eyes and goes pink again as he gathers spit in his mouth, coating Greg's fingers, feeling his arse throb from the spanking. After a minute Greg pulls his fingers away and doesn't bother to wipe the trail of spit when it breaks off and drips onto John's chin. He hauls John up over his knee again and starts to prod at his entrance, working in one finger and then 

 a second before the spit dries. It's a bit uncomfortable--saliva really isn't idea lube--but it does the trick with John's arousal spiking again from the position, helping him to relax, and Greg's questing fingers gently working his muscles into pliance. When he's a bit less tight, Greg eases him off, gets his cock out and rolls on the condom.

"Come up here, baby. Sit on my lap, there's a good lad." His grin is leering, but John just blushes and straddles Greg's thighs, reaching back to line him up as Greg leans back to give him room, arms along the back of the sofa. He uses the tip of Greg's cock to rub lube around his hole, then eases it in, scrunching his eyes shut as he wills his body to relax despite the unrelenting downward push.

"Thaaat's it," Greg encourages.  "Good boy, fuck yourself on my prick. Sweet, tight little arse you've got." He should sound silly, like bad porn, but John doesn't hate it. In fact, the dirty talk is a turn on, especially when combined with Greg's hand slowly jerking John's own cock back to hardness. "One day I'll hold you down on yer back," Greg promises, leaning in and murmuring in John's ear as he's still working himself down. "Fuck you with a hand on your throat and make you beg me to get off. I'd like to hear how you beg, sweet boy," he continues in a raspy whisper.

John gasps, fully seated, and just a minute shift in his hips sends sparks exploding up his spine. "Just... a minute."

"Take your time, sweetheart. I'm comfortable," Greg teases, kissing his forehead and gently stroking his back. John tilts his torso forward to hold Greg, chest to chest, and it again shifts the length impaling him. Overwhelmed by sensation, he fishes for a kiss, letting the intimacy ground him.

"Sweet boy," Greg murmurs against his mouth. "You really do make me feel like a bad, bad man."

John lets out a startled giggle. "Why?"

Greg grins and puts his lips to John's ear again. "Because it turned me on to make you cry."

A shiver runs up John's spine, and he impulsively lifts his arse up just a little before grinding back down. He really does need someone just as fucked up as he is.

"Oh fuck, yeah," Greg snarls at his ear.  "Bounce on my cock now, baby boy."

John jerks once, almost convulsively, and then pushes himself into action, bracing his hands on Greg's shoulders and sitting straight enough to lever himself up and down in short sharp thrusts that jolt through his body and make his core throb with the prostate stimulation. Greg keeps a loose hand on his cock, the movement fucking John into it without much effort. He feels terribly debauched, which is pretty fucking terrific.

"Keep your eyes on me," Greg orders when John's eyes start to slide shut. "Look at me." John obeys, the intensity of Greg's gaze making him want to look away, only his submission keeping him from doing so. He holds that gaze a long minute until he's whimpering and starting to move unevenly, Greg's hand speeding up.

"Please," John wheezes out, thighs burning with the effort. 

"Do it," Greg counters immediately, and then takes John's mouth in a demanding, biting kiss as he comes, finally getting to close his eyes in relief. His movements falter as everything gets to be too much, too sensitive, but Greg just shifts both hands to John's hips, holding him steady and thrusting powerfully up into his body instead. He looks wild now, less controlled, snarling as he fucks John just as hard as he needs. Without thinking too much, John laces his hands behind his back, and Greg rewards him with a feral grin. He shifts one hand to the sofa, so that he can sit up more, bringing his mouth to John's.

"You're going to take my come now, you pretty slut," Greg growls against his lips, and John wants to sink into him and never let go. Instead, he nods frantically, holds his balance, and watches Greg go over the edge with a gasping cry, holding John close to him with the last deep thrust and then shoving John's shirt up, grinding his teeth hard into John's right pectoral muscle. 

"Sir!" John screams, head falling back, world narrowing to a bright hot point of pain. Greg snarls against the spot, holds the grip of his jaw for a moment, and then relents to suck a mark there, finally letting go and letting John fall against his chest, just wincing at how the movement twinges at sore muscles. 

"Fuck," Greg whispers, holding John hard in place. They'll have to shift soon to handle the condom, and John feels a bit gross with his own come smeared into his hip and dried spit on his chin and sweat sticking them together, half-dressed, but he also know that he'll sleep like the dead tonight. It warrants a bright, giddy smile.

~*~

John doesn't think there's anything on his person to out him when he returns to Baker Street the next afternoon, even to the great Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Busybody. He washed and shampooed quite thoroughly at Greg's flat, and his shirt covers the vivid bruise on his chest that Greg had eyed with such possessive good cheer in the morning. But Sherlock gives him a thirty-second look, then raises his eyebrows in the most prat-like fashion.

" _You're_ the bottom?"

"Oh, come on. I thought we weren't talking about it."

"Well when you flaunt such things so obviously... really, you should avoid that position, it's bad for his back."

"Shut it, you," John rebukes, though he's chasing back a smile.

"I'm bewildered. You're much more the action man type, small but not to be underestimated, et cetera et cetera. Lestrade's basically a put-upon caretaker who's accommodating to his partners' desires. How did you end up in such an arrangement?"

John smirks, recognizing the expression that means Sherlock, for science, probably isn't actually considering the topic and is just perturbed by a gap in his knowledge. "Well," he replies, deciding to exploit this and perhaps teach a lesson about privacy in the process, "sometimes it's the caretakers who do the fucking." He licks his lips and thinks the dirtiest possible inappropriate Daddy/boy thoughts he can, mentally daring Sherlock to deduce.

Sherlock, for his part, blinks and stares at John in horror for a full five seconds. "Deleting that sentence, thank  _you_ ," he declares in his primmest tone, and then flounces to the kitchen. John mentally awards himself five points on his own private tally of the eternal flatmate sanity wars, and wonders how soon is too soon to send Greg a text.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Greg continue to explore both ageplay and relationship dynamics. John and Sherlock also clear some things up, and Sherlock basically concedes that "it's all fine."

"Fuck, I'm I knackered," Greg admits after fumbling a few times with the key to his flat. He runs his hands through his hair once he's finally got them inside, flopping on the sofa with a groan.

"Two entire days off, though," John reminds him. "You've earned it."

"Bloody right I have." When John sits, Greg swings his legs up, shoes and all, and puts his head in John's lap. John can't help a fond smile, fingers tracing through his hair. It was a hard case for everyone, but Greg's had two cases back-to-back, plus the paperwork that means John's well-rested now, and Greg's not. He'd still begged John over for the evening, though, and after two weeks without an overnight John couldn't very well say no. He doesn't honestly care whether they fuck. Just falling asleep with Greg's chest to his back and a casually possessive arm slung round his waist will do a lot. It's probably a sign, of what John's not quite sure.

"Shall I order in a curry?"

"Ah, good man," Greg smiles with his eyes closed. "Aye, an'a beer from the fridge would be lovely. In a minute. I need my pillow at the mo'." 

John just shakes his head and makes the call from his mobile, free hand still scratching at Greg's scalp. When he rings off, Greg's looking up at him.

"Taking care of me, are you? Thought that was my job." His grin is boyish and rakishly handsome at the same time. John smiles, undoes a couple of Greg's shirt buttons.

"Sometimes. But I do like to make myself useful."

"Mmm. Y'know... you wouldn't have to call me Sir," Greg says softly, still looking John directly in the eye. "If that's where we're heading. But I would need it to mean that. If I'm to be your Daddy, I mean, I'd need it to mean that too. The D an' s part."

"Okay," John agrees, just as soft though his heart must be thumping faster in his chest. Greg's obviously been thinking about this, in the time since their last evening together. "That's... really all right. Good, actually. The D/s part."

Greg grins. "I just wanted you to know... I don't mind if Daddy is the word you use to mean all of it. If we both know. If I know what it means."

"Definitely." John's hand strokes Greg's cheek, eyebrows raising. "Are you asking?"

"I think... I'm asking if you want me to be that to you, yeah," Greg agrees. "I want to keep easing into it. I don't know everything you like."

"No," John agrees. "Or vice versa. But I would like you to... be my Daddy," he admits, proud of his voice only hitching a little. "For the record. I'd like to be your boy."

Greg's grin is broad as he reaches up and grabs the hair at the back of John's head. "Good," he says, lifting up to meet John halfway for a confirming kiss. "Now get me a beer?"

John laughs and kisses him once more before he slides free and heads for the fridge, his hands nearly twitching with a giddy rush of adrenaline.

~*~

"Maybe I should warn you," John admits the next morning, head resting on Greg's thigh after a wake-up blowjob. "I know next to nothing about being in a kinky relationship."

Greg barks a laugh and a hand falls to the back of John's neck. "I'd say this is a pretty good start," Greg teases, giving his neck a squeeze. "Come up here, lad," he says, and John crawls up easily into a snuggle, face to face with their heads sharing a pillow. "There's no rule book, really. I want you to call me Daddy, or Sir, when we're in private. Use a safeword if you need it, be honest with me about how you're feeling and what you need. Especially if there are things you need from a Daddy that I can give you, because I might not know as much about that. Otherwise, treat it like any other relationship."

John snorts a laugh, thinking of all the relationships that have gone tits up in the past. "Remind me never to introduce you to an ex-girlfriend."

Greg just smiles and kisses his forehead. "You know I met my ex-wife through the scene?" John nods. "Well, we met through a kind of spanking group. Very discreet, not even very kinky. The entire focus is spanking, all the people doing the spanking are men and the people receiving are women... we happened to hit it off and were just lucky we were both into other things. My point being, these things evolve."

"Why did you join that group in the first place?" John asks, pulling a bit of a face. "Sounds tame for you."

Greg laughs. "Your perspective, soldier. Over-the-knee spankings have been one of my biggest kinks forever. They might be 'tame' by some standards, but they're far more intimate than most things. I think so, anyway." He raises his eyebrows at John. "You certainly seemed to experience that when I took you over my knee."

John thinks back to their first spanking scene and blushes. "I did. It felt... vulnerable. I wasn't expecting that."

"No, I didn't think so. Spanking can be deceiving that way. You mentioned to me, before, that you regressed once during a spanking. I think it tends to bring up emotional things for some people. I like the kind of topspace I find in response to that... might be a caretaking thing, but it's also a bit dark. I like the potential for getting people somewhere unexpected, for playing with some of the stuff that's more personal."

"Right," John murmurs. "When we did it, I didn't realize it was... a particular kink for you. But you're certainly good at it."

"Mmm." Greg grins, then props up, murmuring in John's ear. "Get used to it, boy." He pushes down on John's back, then, forcing him to flatten onto his stomach, and gives his arse a couple of quick pops. His cotton pants dull the blows but he groans anyway.

"Yes, please."

Greg laughs and kisses the back of his neck. "Anyway, I knew those spanking groups existed when I was barely twenty, but I was too chicken. So after a couple of relationships with subs I met in the vanilla world I decided to go for it." He shrugs, stroking John's hair. "As for relationships, I like ritual. Little routines. I want to give you structure. But I wouldn't know what those will be for us until they happen. I like things to develop organically. I tend to take liberties," he confesses as gentle fingertips trail over the crease of John's arse and between his thighs. John moans just a bit into the sheet. "It helps me find the vulnerable spots, among other things."

"I'm not complaining," John mumbles, despite how fucked-up poking around for his particular weaknesses probably  _should_  sound. "Sir."

"No, I didn't think so." Greg shifts on the mattress, knees John's thighs apart and grabs his balls, giving them a squeeze. His other hand puts pressure between John's shoulderblades, his breath slightly restricted as the mattress compresses his chest. 

"Breakfast?"

John groans. "Brunch?" 

Greg laughs. "Atta boy. Maybe we can start," he suggests, bending to breathe at John's shoulder and pressing his teeth there lightly, "with a lesson on discipline."

~*~

"Do you have many toys?" Greg asks later, over eggs and toast and bacon. Occasionally he feeds John a bite from his own plate, which makes John's cheeks go a bit warm.

"Many? No. No S&M type stuff." He smirks. "Less than Sherlock, with his riding crop. I never saw the point of having my own."

"But you did say you have something you like to play with." Greg raises his eyebrows. John takes a sip of tea. 

"Erm, yeah... I have two toys like that. Plus a cock ring. And a collar," he admits. That small collection is very carefully locked away, thorough he's sure Sherlock's picked the locks and just doesn't find such pedestrian supplies interesting. "For emergencies."

Greg reaches over to squeeze his hand. "For comfort when you couldn't play?"

"Right. And I have my kit to do my boots. Sometimes that's calming, if not exactly my kink."

Greg's hand finds the back of his neck again, tugs, and John scoots his chair closer. "I don't have a massive supply myself. But I do have some things I'd like your opinion on."

John nods. "Fair enough. I'm keen to experiment," he smiles.

"What about little boy stuff? Do you have any accessories? Or want them? You could keep things here if you'd like Sherlock not to know."

John shakes his head. "I can't think of anything I want for that, really. Like I've told you, it's not as if I'm into diapers or coloring pictures. It's much more about who I'm with, feeling small by comparison. I suppose there might be things that would get me more into the place I like to be but I'd feel stupid with most of them. So far the way you treat me has been the most effective," he admits.

Greg grins. "Ego boost, that. So I'll think about it, but not a priority. You're not playing very hard to get, Watson," he teases. John smiles back, purposefully adopting his most innocent tone.

"Why would I want to, Daddy?" He gets a piece of buttered toast shoves in his mouth for his trouble.

~*~

Ultimately, when Greg shows John his toy collection, it's the more everyday stuff that sparks the most interest. He gives a general thumbs-up to floggers, willing to try canes and paddles though he hasn't really in the past, but he's surprised by the amount of heavy chain and coiled rope Greg owns, neatly resting in the same suitcase where most of the other stuff lives.

"Have you turned B&Q into your own personal sex shop, then?" John teases, and Greg laughs, scratching at the nape of John's neck, stepping in close. 

"Not really. For the chains, yes, but rope to tie someone you're better off getting online from someone making it for that purpose. I'm a bit finnicky about that."

"Ah." John reaches into the suitcase and touches the hemp rope, which must be conditioned in some way but is still rough enough to feel and likely holds knots well. "I don't have much experience with bondage."

"Would you like to?" Greg asks near his ear. John bites his lip and rests his knee on the bed next to the suitcase.

"Think I might do, yeah." He opens up a smaller bag to one side of the case and finds clothespins, little metal clips of varying sizes, a pair of sap gloves, and a metal implement that he holds up, frowning skeptically. "Is that a  _shrimp_  deveiner?"

Greg laughs. "Good eye. Spend much time in the kitchen?"

John shakes his head. Not really. But sometimes I watch the cookery programmes on the telly when I'm bored," he admits as Greg takes it from his hand and drags the cool metal tip across John's throat. He grips John's hair in the other hand and yanks his head back against Greg's shoulder, making John almost-stumble.

"Good mindfuck," Greg explains, tugging at John's earlobe with his teeth. "Especially with a blindfold. Makes you think you're in more danger than you are, that I might rough you up good. Might harm your pretty face," he murmurs, and as much as it's unexpected, John's cock is trying to respond in his trousers again. Greg's teeth suddenly sink down into the part of his shoulder that's exposed, closest to his neck, and he cries out, involuntarily pushing the dull metal harder against his throat. "Like that idea, boy?"

John whimpers in spite of himself and manages a breathy response. "Yeah. I... yeah."

Greg lets him go then, as suddenly as he took a hold, and John can hear the grin in his voice without turning around as he puts the deveiner back in the bag. "If you really like the idea of a knife, I have other options. Depends on whether it's the fear or the actual cutting that gets to you."

"You mean... you've cut someone like that, for fun?" John asks. He isn't a hundred percent sure how he feels about that, except that his cock twitches and his gut twists. It's right on that edge of fear and arousal that has always been intoxicating.

"Oh yeah," Greg agrees, voice rough and fond. He reaches for a little black case that John hadn't noticed and unzips it to reveal two knives inside, one small dagger with an ornate pearl handle and the other a wicked blade that looks most suited to hunting. John swallows hard. 

"I'm not sure."

"You don't have to be." Greg kisses behind his ear. "But it's on the table if you ever want to try. You can ask me for it." He closes the case and wraps a bracing arm around John's waist, pressing against his stomach. "There's also this," he adds, opening a black box and taking out a curved metal toy. John squints, not entirely sure what the point is, since it's neither a plug nor straight enough for fucking. Greg offers it to him and the stainless steel is heavy in his hand, gleaming brightly. 

"Uh, how does this..."

"It's a wand. This goes against your prostate," Greg explains touching one of the bulbed ends, "and then you kind of rock it in place. Trust me, it's pretty awesome," he laughs.

"Oh," John blushes. "Do you also, uh..."

"Bottom?" Greg smiles. "Yeah, sweetheart, sometimes. It's an occasional thing for me, but I do."

"Oh. Cool." John feels sort of silly, turning back to kiss Greg. "I'd... be open to that. If you wanted to sometime."

"Yeah." Greg grins. "Well, more accurately,  _I'd_  be open to it."

"Oh God," John groans. "You did not just..."

"Da-nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh," Greg hums the stripper song, shaking his hips ridiculously against John's body as he closes the suitcase.  

"I'm never taking you out in public, Sir."

"Ha! You work with me, Watson, you're doomed."

"Don't I know it..."

~*~

In fact, John's not surprised that Greg is very good at remaining professional at crime scenes, even now that they're "official." He doesn't behave any differently, even during the rare moment when they're more-or-less alone. When they end up working a relatively high-profile kidnapping case that may or may not involve espionage, everyone is stressed enough that there's not much time to be affectionate even if they did want to take that risk. But Sherlock is Sherlock, and so in a lull one afternoon John's startled by Sherlock suddenly shouting, "ha!" and pulling him out of an exhausted stupor.

"Sorry? Did you solve it?"

"What? No! You!" Sherlock says accusatorily, pointing one long finger at John and narrowing his eyes. 

John just looks at him, baffled, but he registers Greg taking a step closer out of his peripheral vision, and Sherlock looks that way at the same time. 

"Hmmph. Confirmed." The three of them are the only ones in the room, Sally and DS Chutani having gone to fetch coffee. Greg doesn't look any less baffled than he is at the moment.

"Confirmed what, exactly? Sherlock, you're doing the thing again. English, please."

Sherlock makes a sour face. "Is it infantilism you're into, John, or do you just have a mild sexual fascination with nurturing types?" John blinks, twice, and then blanches. He honestly doesn't have a clue what to say, though perhaps the urge to clock Sherlock in the face will come soon. His initial thought is pure, blinding terror, because he's been so  _careful_ , and accepting as Greg is of his kinks--encouraging, even--he doesn't feel one whit safer having them aired in public than he would have a few months back.

Fortunately, he doesn't really  _have_  to react, as Greg is quick to cross the conference room, away from the whiteboard of information on the suspect and right into Sherlock's personal space. John almost thinks he's about to get physical, but instead he radiates a deadly calm, his voice almost not loud enough for John to hear.

"You. Lay off of that  _right now_ , do you understand me?"

Sherlock stares, evidently as surprised as John is, and takes a full second to answer. "I wasn't..."

" _Now_. I don't want to hear a deduction, I don't want to hear a single question about John's private life without his express invitation to talk about it, and if it comes back to me that you  _have_ been asking, your life will not be very pleasant. Is that understood?" He neither raises his voice nor gets any closer, his tone almost mild, but his eyes are steel and the whole display almost shocks John out of his shame.

Sherlock, for his part, seems to weigh the threat, then gives Greg a small nod. "It's not of any interest to me," he concedes. "I only just noticed and it's instinctive to clarify."

"Yeah, you could do with a bit less of that instinct, too," Greg mutters, but it's jovial, the cloud of cold authority gone from his features, and he's back to long-suffering copper, returning to the board. He raises his eyebrows to John, as if to ask, "all right?" and John just nods, a bit dazed at how Greg just went almost Mycroft on them. Perhaps they'll talk about it later. Sherlock turns back to the case with his usual singularity of focus, and John's just relieved he seems to have dodged a bullet.

~*~

Later, days later, the case is solved and Sherlock and John have both had about twelve hours of consecutive sleep--in 221B, because Greg's still wrapping up loose ends and liaising with MI6 and the higher-ups at the Yard. John finds Sherlock staring at him as they sit opposite one another in their usual chairs, obviously trying not to say something but wanting to. John sighs, and he's not sure if it's the decent mood he's in after some rest and a good fry-up for breakfast or if the relationship with Lestrade actually is making him more confident about his preferences, but he decides to speak. Maybe it's just Sherlock's own oddities, and the fact that John's never once seen him judge a sexual proclivity, though they've come across some rather strange ones in their line of work.

"I'm not an infantilist. I don't want to have a long discussion about it, because Greg's right, Sherlock--it's  _private_. But that isn't my thing. Does that help you to clarify?"

Sherlock frowns a little and sips at the tea John brought him a few minutes earlier. "Partially. May I ask another question?"

"I suppose. I reserve the right not to answer."

Sherlock dips a finger in his tea, swirling it around. "It shouldn't be surprising, really. You're anything if predictable. But, assuming you like some sort of... age difference roleplay, is that approximately your dynamic?" John nods.

"Basically."

"--given that, I understand the attraction--it's not a particularly uncommon fetish--but I don't understand the degree of your embarrassment on the topic. You reacted rather more strongly to my deduction than you did when I deduced Harry's alcoholism, or your relationship with your father, or even your mastubatory frequency"--John rolls his eyes--"and Lestrade was quite livid that I brought it up. Yet he is not personally ashamed of the kink, despite the fact that it is more properly yours than his, and I imagine he only has a leaning in that direction that makes the relationship work. Meaning that he was angry that I potentially hurt you, his partner, by mentioning it."

"I don't know why, Sherlock," John sighs. "I'm not... very comfortable with it."

"John," Sherlock interrupts with a long-suffering sigh, "sexual fetishes are extremely common in healthy adults and are generally considered acceptable so long as you are not causing harm to yourself or others."

"Yes, you twat, I know," John says with a fond eye roll. "But it doesn't make it any easier. Intellectually understanding something isn't the same as emotionally accepting it."

Sherlock groans out loud, his "oh, humanity!" groan, and John's ready to drop the subject when Sherlock, looking as if it pains him a little to do so, adds one more thing. "I accept you, John."

He doesn't meet John's eyes, but the attempt at bowing to human emotions makes John smile nonetheless. "Cheers, mate," he offers, and gets up to make more tea before this turns more uncomfortable than it already is. John may be the practicing bisexual in this friendship, and by comparison to Sherlock incredibly effusive, but that doesn't make him any less emotionally reticent on an average masculine scale. He's happy to get back to normal Sherlock-and-John status, putting the kettle on and firing off a quick text to find out when Greg will be home.

~*~

"Baby, could I borrow you for a little bit?" Greg asks, leaning over the back of his sofa to kiss John's cheek. Greg's just been doing the washing up while John watches a chat show, but he's more than happy to turn the television off in favor of whatever Greg's hopeful tone promises.

"Sure," he smiles, tipping his head back and snagging a kiss on the mouth. "What for?"

"Come to the bedroom. I have a little idea I want to try," Greg replies, and John perks up predictably at that.

"Yeah?" He grins and follows Greg into the bedroom, looking around but not seeing anything out of place. "Is this the sexy kind of idea?"

"Possibly," Greg smiles, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting a spot next to him. "It's an idea that might appeal to my good little boy, in particular."

"Oh," John says softly, blushing heavily as he sits. "Okay."

Greg laughs and rubs his thigh, leaning in to trail a few kisses along his neck. "Don't worry, baby. It's not anything scary. Just a little learning tool I want to try out on you."

"Okay," John murmurs, his voice already going a little softer, though he doesn't consciously put on the "little boy" role, more letting his responsible adult self slowly melt away in response to Greg's verbal and physical cues. They've done enough of this in their play now that it's starting to become natural, but he doesn't love it any less. "What kind of learning tool? I mean, what do you want me to learn?"

"Well... I've been thinking, and I know sometimes it's hard for you to have full self-control," Greg murmurs, the rubbing on John's thigh becoming firmer and sweeping in circles higher up. "That's not your fault, though. Lots of little boys have trouble with self control, which is why I thought we might give you a little something to practice with, and a new rule to go with it." 

"Oh," John says softly, trembling just a bit and leaning into Greg as he continues to kiss at John's neck and suck gently at his earlobe. He closes his eyes, biting his lip. "What's the new rule going to be?"

"Well, it should be easy for you, Johnny," Greg murmurs. "You are  _such_  a good boy, I've been learning. I know you like to please me, don't you?"

"Yes, Daddy," John murmurs so softly it's almost a whisper.

"Good boy," Greg coos. "Then you shouldn't have too much trouble with a simple rule like this. The rule is that whenever you're here, at my house, during playtime or any other time we're alone, you have to tell Daddy when you feel your penis getting hard." The back of his hand just brushes over John's lap as he says it, and John bites off a sudden sound, sucking in a breath.

"Oh God."

Greg laughs softly. "Do you like that, John?" 

John nods. 

"You know it's natural for little boys' pricks to get hard, so I won't ever be upset if you tell me. But I need to know when it happens if we're gong to work on your control. I need to know how long I can tease my little boy until it hurts too much to keep going," Greg continues, now rubbing at John's cock through his jeans. "We'll use this rule so I can measure that." 

"Do you--does self control mean that I can't..." John breaks off, not sure how to phrase it, and Greg laughs a little, kissing his jaw.

"I'm still going to let you come, baby. Just on my terms. It'll be our little game, with rewards for when you're good. And you'll have something to help you," Greg adds, bending to slide a box out from under the bed. It's the same box that John previously kept at 221B, and it's been in this flat for several weeks, though they haven't played with anything in it yet. Greg pulls the leather cock ring out and John swallows, thinking of its comforting snug grip. He's never used it with a partner, but Greg's hands are sure as he undoes John's zip and tugs his jeans down. "This will be your learning tool, baby. You'll wear it whenever you get hard and I want to have playtime, until you're ready to control yourself without it. You know how it works, yeah?"

John nods. He doesn't bother pretending not to get it; it's his toy after all. "I like it, Daddy."

"Yeah?" Greg smiles. "That's good, then. This isn't a punishment." His hand grips John firmly, pulling and squeezing at his cock rather than jerking him off. John groans and lets Greg guide him down to lie on his back, tugging his jeans all the way off. As Greg possessively manipulates his genitals, he starts to float, little moans falling from his mouth unnoticed. The leather around his half-hard cock is familiar, if a little loose when Greg snaps it on. 

"Is that good, baby, or do you want it a snap tighter?" Greg asks, slowly stroking John's shaft more deliberately.

"No, that's where it goes, Daddy," John mumbles, then giggles softly. "It gets bigger." 

" _Yeah_  it does," Greg growls, but with an answering laugh, slowly lowering his weight onto John and licking his lips. "Such a good boy. Do you have any questions?"

"Um... do I get to ask to have it off? If I need to... y'know."

"Sure you do," Greg agrees. "Might say no, but you can always ask."

"Ah. Thass'all right," John mumbles, and then moans as Greg presses their mouths together in a very grown-up kiss. The ring feels snug around him as his cock fills out to a full erection, and even better, Greg's weight on top of him is grounding and secure. He feels free to explore Greg's mouth with his tongue, leaving it up to his Daddy to tell him when anything needs to change. That's not his responsibility anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, sadly Evernote actually deleted most of the sexytimes scene at the end so I had to rewrite and hopefully it's at least decent if not its original quality. 
> 
> Also of possible interest, I have a Tumblr! Not many people have found me yet so please check out [viklikesfic](http://viklikesfic.tumblr.com) for lots of Sherlock-related content. I even put a ficlet up there that can't be found anywhere else, and likely will continue to do so, along with meta, planning for fics, and possibly drafts. 
> 
> Finally, an apology to anyone who prompted me on the prompt fill post I put here. AO3 deleted it so all those prompts are lost :-(


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and John continue to play, and eventually make it to John's first "decent" public event. Also, Greg doesn't take Sherlock's shit.

A pair of bright red Y-fronts are relatively innocuous, as these things go. They don’t have to mean anything. But it doesn’t escape John that Greg has laid out his clothes for the day on the bed while John was getting a pot of tea brewing, as if he were a child, and it certainly doesn’t escape him that the pants sitting on top of John’s shirt and jeans are new—nothing like the practical white cotton he normally wears. The bright color and the style just hint at childishness, and John tugs them on before he can think about it, zipping up his jeans and looking at himself in the mirror. No one else has to know, he reasons. For all he knows, half the coppers in the Yard are wearing frilly lingerie under their trousers. One's pants are a private thing. But John isn’t going to be able to forget that they’re there, and he’s sure Greg knows it as the man walks into the bedroom naked, toweling his hair and grinning once he’s spotted John dressed and the empty bed. 

“Good boy,” he praises, tugging John close for a quick kiss and an errant arse-squeeze before going about his business. John blushes almost as red as the pants and goes to brush his teeth, feeling his cock start to stir. Maybe he really  _doesn’t_ need this private reminder of his fetish throughout the workday, but he doesn’t quite want to take them off. When he makes it into the kitchen, Greg is sitting at the table with toast and two mugs of tea.

"Sherlock might deduce," John points out as he sits and butters his toast. "I don't think I'm terribly bothered, though."

"No?" Greg's smile is gentle and he lays a hand over John's on the table, giving it a squeeze. "That's good."

John shrugs. "Now that he knows the bigger picture, I don't think he's interested in details."

"Thank God for small mercies. I can't believe he's never said anything about my own sex life before now. Other than deducing my wife was cheating before I knew."

John cringes in sympathy. "Ooh."

"Yeah, I was pissed at the time, though in retrospect.... I'm glad I found out when I did. I needed to make that break. And he did think he was helping, in his own way."

“Yeah,” John rolls his eyes at that. “I’m familiar.” He takes a few more gulps of tea, then stands and bends down to kiss Greg on the mouth. “Sorry, I'm off out. I’ll text later.”

“Ta. Be good,” Greg teases, holding him in place by the hair for a moment for another swipe of his tongue. John groans lightly and grins as he stands, reaches for his overnight bag. He could get used to this.

~*~ 

John wears the red pants for their next date. It’s more sleepover than date, starting three hours later than their originally-planned dinner together because Sherlock was being Sherlock and Greg was stalled at the Yard anyway. By the time John gets to Greg’s flat, they’ve both given up and scarfed down a takeaway while working, and they’re tired enough to admit defeat and pretty much collapse into bed. John’s not displeased, though, when it becomes evident that Greg fancies a snog, one hand sliding behind John’s neck and cradling the back of his head as they kiss. He relaxes into it and lets Greg divest him of his jumper, then his shirt between kisses. When a single hand unbuttons his jeans and questing fingers find the cotton barrier underneath, the detective grins against his mouth.

“Ooh, good boy. Do you like ‘em?” Greg asks, and John blushes hot as he tries to deflect with another kiss.

“Yeah,” he agrees, but Greg grabs his chin and keeps him from brushing his answer aside. 

“Tell me why, boy,” he half-growls, looking pleased. John feels the blood in his cheeks and his eyes dart down, though he looks back up at Greg’s face with the prompting of a little pressure on his jaw.

“They…remind me of you. Of our… thing."

“They make you feel younger?"

John nods. “A bit. Not… it doesn’t interfere. But it’s a nice reminder."

“I thought so,” Greg grins, pleased with himself. “S’why I bought ‘em. To encourage naughty thoughts."

John laughs and ducks his head again, pressing a kiss to Greg’s collarbone.

“Good lad,” Greg praises, stroking his hand along the slope of John’s skull, caressing his hair. Emboldened, John crawls further down the bed, helping Greg out of his trousers and his pants and pressing his face against Greg’s thigh, nuzzling to feel the rough caress of hair against his cheek. He inhales deeply and lets a low hum loose, the musky intimate scent comforting him on a basic level. “Oh, yeah, that’s a good lad,” Greg purrs, gently tugging at John’s hair in between strokes, letting him breathe and nuzzle as Greg starts to harden. He encourages it along with little licks, working along the flesh with his tongue. 

Cheeks still warm with embarrassment, John indulges himself anyway, burrowing with his nose and mouth against Greg’s balls and tasting there, pushing up and back with his tongue. He’s rewarded with a low groan and works his tongue against the loose, lightly furred skin, chasing the firmer flesh underneath. Greg pushes at the back of his head and he can’t quite breathe, but also doesn’t care, taking oxygen in with little gasps where he can get an opening, otherwise letting Greg suffocate him slowly with little rolls of his hips, nose and mouth full of him. Saliva gathers around John’s mouth and he’s a right mess when Greg finally drags him back up his cock, fully hard now, but Greg looks down at him like he’s never see anything more attractive, so he makes his sloppy way down the shaft with full enthusiasm, opening his throat and not trying to hold back the strangled sounds as Greg fucks his face.

“Good boy,” Greg grunts, hands tugging John’s hair to the point of pain. “Oh, fuck  _me_ …” 

Tears start to prick at John’s eyes as he’s pushed down, struggling for air through his nose at the top of each thrust. His jaw is sore and he can’t move much, Greg’s own movements too erratic to match. But he can relax and take it, and his own perverse fantasies revel in the feeling of being used like this, hair all mussed up, face covered in spit and trousers undone, his bright red Y-fronts damp with pre-come. When Greg’s about to come, he pulls back, holds John’s face in both hands, and comes all over him, spattering his face and chest with spunk. John whimpers softly, more in reaction to the intensely dominant look on Greg’s face than anything else, and just stares at him for a moment, catching his breath, sitting back on his heels. He’s caught off guard when Greg suddenly surges up and knocks him back, his head only half caught by the foot of the bed. “Mine,” Greg hisses, fisting a hand in John’s hair and scraping his nails down one side of John’s face. John gasps at the bright pain, but nods quickly.

“Yes, I…"

“You’re  _mine_ , gorgeous little fucker,” Greg growls, rubbing a bit of his come into John’s face with firm circles of his fingertips. “Tell Daddy you liked it."

“I liked it, Daddy,” John whispers, hips bucking up just a little, the jolt of fear making him almost painfully hard.

“Yeah you did,” Greg grins, rubbing a thumb over John’s bottom lip. “Fuck, yeah you did. My pretty little slut. Tell me why you liked it." 

“Because… I’m yours, Daddy,” John murmurs, unable to come up with much more than that. Greg doesn’t seem to care, though, flopping down on the bed next to him and scooping him up close. Eventually, he’s going to need a serious shower, but for now he just cuddles up close and frots lightly against Daddy’s thigh, feeling simultaneously aroused and comforted as Greg holds him with a firm hand at the small of John’s back. Perhaps he’s a little fucked up, but so far that seems to be working out for him quite nicely.

~*~ 

“Hey lovely. Come give us a kiss,” Greg smiles as he steps into 221B, and John brightens a bit at the order. He ignores Sherlock’s huff from the sofa and stands up from his chair, walking over to the door and letting Greg pull him in. 

“You’re early,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over Greg’s mouth. “Any reason?"

“I was able to foist paperwork onto another unwilling soul of lesser rank,” Greg grins, kissing him deeper. “Giving me more time with my favorite boy, lucky for you." 

John returns the smile and goes for another kiss, but he’s interrupted by Sherlock’s sharp, sudden declaration. “John’s occupied." 

“What?” He frowns, turning. “No I’m not."

“Private case. The missing Scottish heirloom."

“You said that was a  _three_!" 

“New facts have come to light. I’d be useless without you, John,” Sherlock declares, springing dramatically to his feet before stalking over to Greg and John, giving Greg a little half-smile. “So sorry to interrupt."

“Bollocks,” Greg retorts. “You’re not at all sorry. You’re crashing my date." 

“How pedestrian, Lestrade. You know that the Work waits for no man." 

“Apparently only true when you’re feeling a bit jealous,” Greg argues, not letting go of his hold on John. “I know for an absolute fact that you won’t even sit  _up_  for a three, let alone leave the flat or need John’s assistance. Stop being a child and go experiment on something until he returns."

Sherlock responds with his most dramatically indignant face, and John has to hide an actual giggle. It’s so unusual that anyone actually tries to stop Sherlock from stealing him away from a relationship that he can’t help but feel a little surge of relief at Greg’s reaction. 

“I’m not  _jealous_. As I’ve said before, I consider myself married—" 

“To the Work, yeah, I know. But John’s not actually  _synonymous_  with the Work, and we have plans."

“Going round the _pub_ to watch a match hardly qualifies as  _plans_ ,” Sherlock argues, spitting the word “pub” as if it’s an expletive.

“It does when you’re with your boyfriend, Sherlock. Live with it. We’re going. I’d be big enough to invite you along, but the last time you went to a pub during a match you got us both thrown out before the half, and it’s Arsenal at Chelsea tonight." 

“He got you thrown out of a pub?” John snickers, chancing a glance at Sherlock. “What, deducing?"

“Disparaging the entire sport of football and everyone who enjoys it. He deserved it. But  _I_ didn’t."

John laughs. “Poor baby. Sherlock, I’ll be home later tonight,” he says as he grabs his jacket from its hook by the door.

“No you won’t,” Sherlock snaps. “You intend to go your separate ways after the match, since you both have to be at work in the morning, but in fact you will be experiencing a sufficient surge of adrenaline following the match, regardless of outcome, given your mutual propensity to become slightly sexually aroused in the face of male camaraderie and shouting blithely at televisions with the chance of a potential fight breaking out, that you will instead decide to return to Lestrade’s flat against your better judgement and have no-doubt intolerably loud sex. Do have  _some_ consideration for the neighbors, John,” he finishes with a trademark flounce as he spins around and marches towards the kitchen. John just stares at his retreating back, shaking his head.  

“Did Sherlock really just lecture  _me_  on consideration for  _neighbors_?" 

Greg laughs and tugs him towards the door. “Best not to dwell on it, love. C’mon. We’ll miss the start."

~*~

“How do you feel?” Greg asks, looming over John a bit on the bed, stroking fingers over his arsehole. John can’t help but smirk a bit.

“You’re about to put cold metal up my bum, how do you think I feel?"

“Brat,” Greg chides, smacking his thigh. “That’s Sir to you. More lube?"

“Little more,” John agrees, grinning and letting his thighs fall open wider, Greg’s warm fingers pressing another generous helping of lubricant into his body. They’ve been relaxed and easy tonight, Greg refusing to speed up with the stretching in preparation for the metal wand. John’s grateful, though, now that he’s faced with the steady intrusion of the small metal ball on one end of the thing.

“Breathe in, baby. Now out,” Greg coaches, holding the metal still against John’s arse and letting it warm up next to his skin. “One more time.” He presses an anchoring hand low on John’s belly, and John tugs another pillow under his head so that he can watch Greg’s forearm flex as he pushes the wand inside on John’s next exhale. “That’s it, baby. That’s good."

John groans at the feeling of unyielding metal pushing past his sphincter muscles, but it’s a relatively easy slide, and the feeling of being filled as the toy slides deeper makes him blush with arousal. He can feel the weight of the toy inside him, a steady pressure. Greg’s gentle encouragements don’t hurt, either.  

“Atta boy, that’s almost all of it. Right there?” Greg asks, crooking the wand up and adjusting a little until John gasps and nods sharply, feeling the ball rub against his prostate. “Mm, there we are.” Greg’s grin is almost boyish as he rocks the toy again, nudging against the gland. It feels a little weird, not a familiar thrusting movement, but it also makes pleasure spark in his belly, especially as Greg rubs in soothing circles with his hand, applying gentle pressure. “Can you touch yourself for me?” Greg prompts, his voice low and gentle like the tone he might use to speak to a shy child who’s witnessed a crime. John nods, reaching for his cock with one hand, his wrist brushing against Greg’s. He’s been hard since halfway through the fingering, and he groans in relief when he takes himself in hand. “Mm, good boy,” Greg praises. “Show Daddy how you touch yourself."

John bites his lip, eyes falling closed for a moment. The pressure of the toy inside him is unrelenting, the deep rocking motions feeling like his cock is being stimulated from deep inside his body as his hand rubs the outside. He takes his time, enjoying the stimulation and blushing just a little at the wet squelching sounds the wand makes as it fucks him. Greg keeps rubbing his belly, murmuring soothing things in his kindest “Daddy” voice, and when John finally feels like he can’t hold back any longer, he opens his eyes, stroking himself faster.

“That’s it, lad. No reason not to let it out. I want to watch you make a mess of yourself. That’s why I’m doing this to you,” Greg promises, and John groans, lifting his free hand and jamming a fist against his mouth as his hips start to buck. “Give it to me, lad,” Greg murmurs, and John pushes himself over, crying out at the release of tension and jerking his hips erratically until the feeling of the wand inside him turns to almost-pain and his cries turn into whimpers. Greg relents gradually, slowing the motions, and then presses a firm hand on John’s belly as he eases the toy out, John’s muscles letting it go with a wet pop. He moans softly at the sore feeling, but kind of likes it at the same time, curling up into a satisfied ball as Greg puts the wand aside and passes him a tissue.

“Satisfied, baby?” Greg asks with a grin on his face that says he’s damn sure John is. John just giggles and nods, letting Greg snuggle up and pull John to his chest.

~*~

“Do you remember the first time you knelt for a man?” Greg asks, idly stroking John’s hair as he does just that, on a cushion next to Greg’s chair, half-watching _Top Gear_.

“Mm?” John blinks out of the hair-stroking hypnosis and smiles a little. “Yeah, of course. Stayed on the floor a lot longer than I ought to have, given the state of my knees the next day.” 

Greg laughs a little and ruffles his hair, mussing it up. “Common enough mistake. One of my first scenes, I tried to make a woman kneel indefinitely without a cushion. After fifteen minutes she sat on her bottom and when I tried to punish it for her she gave me a yellow and ‘forgot’ to leave her number after."

John stifles his own laugh, because that can’t be easy for a newish top. He nuzzles Greg’s knee instead. “Blame bad porn."

“Well,” Greg smiles, rubs John’s jaw with his thumb. “Not all bad. I still find kneeling very erotic. But I believe in cushions, pillows, and the time-tested 'bum to the side for a few minutes’ move."

“A classic,” John giggles. “It’s too bad they don’t have lessons for this sort of thing. The practical stuff that doesn’t show up in a Google search."

“They do, actually. Also, you’re terrible at Google." 

“Hmph.” 

“Would you want to go to a class?” Greg offers, scratching lightly at the back of John’s neck. “Not a bad idea for a date, if you’re interested."

“Maybe,” John concedes. “I’ve never thought of it before. Is there something you’d like to learn?"

“Well, I’m comfortable with most of the things I’m really into as a top, practical skills-wise,” Greg admits. “But I could always use a refresher, and you'd make a lovely practice bottom.” His smile is teasing, fingers brushing over John’s lips. “I’ve seen classes advertised that are more conversation-starters, too. Less about skills and more about ideas… that might be something you could get more out of as a sub, and bonus if there’s a party after… assuming you’re comfortable playing in public with me."

John considers that for a moment, sucking lazily on Greg’s fingers. He’s obviously played in public before—otherwise, they never would’ve discovered each other’s common interests—but this is different, more of a lights-on, respectable sort of scene. He could theoretically see someone he knows. Then again, if he tries to picture it, someone seeing him in a scene space as Greg’s sub, someone who’s obviously there because they’re interested and thus not much of a threat, it brings something warm to his belly, something like pride.

“I think I would like that,” he admits softly. “I would like going to a party as a couple. But I don’t think I want to bring my ageplay into a public space. I’d rather just call you ‘Sir,’ and keep the other stuff at home. How does that sound?"

Greg smiles and nods, bending for a kiss. “Absolutely. Ta for being honest about that.” He trails his lips to John’s neck and slowly digs in with his teeth, the pressure starting out sensual and brightening to a pain that has John squirming in place. When Greg pulls away, his tongue follows, lapping at the bite mark. “I like it when you call me Sir,” he murmurs, and John smiles fondly, letting himself sink just a bit.

~*~ 

They end up at a class on edgeplay and fearplay, which John finds darkly exciting if also a little nervewracking. He’s not so used to talking about his kinks in a group of strangers with the lights on, and he stays quiet when the presenter, a no-nonsense woman in her forties who wears practical shoes and comfortable clothes and could probably kick the shit out of him, asks the audience for input. Fifteen minutes into the class, though, she asks them to break into small groups to discuss what edgeplay means to them, and he finds himself being introduced by Greg to a middle aged male couple with neatly trimmed beards and a young woman with a Caribbean accent who’s wearing a leather vest that just covers her small breasts.

“So… where do we start?” one of the men asks with a pleasant laugh. He introduced himself with a scene name, Papa Bear, which almost made John laugh in response. Ridiculous or not, though, it fits. “I guess we could talk about why we came to the class. Drew’s really curious about fear play,” he explains, putting a hand on his partner’s thigh.

“Terrified,” Drew grins. “But curious. I want to try blood play, specifically. It’s been a fear of mine for a long time, but…” He shakes his head. “Forbidden fruit, I reckon. It’s appealing in a kind of haunting way."

“His first long-term partner died in ’84,” Papa Bear explains. “Well… you know how it is.” He nods at John and Greg, and while John thinks he should maybe be a bit offended at the assumption he’s old enough to have been having gay sex when the AIDS epidemic broke, he’s mostly full of sympathy and nods along with Greg.

“That’s how kinks often work, isn’t it?” Greg says, shaking his head. “I used to obsess so much about things I thought were totally outside the realm of possibility. The more wrong they felt, the better.” 

“Yeah,” John agrees. “Same.” Greg casually squeezes the back of his neck, a gesture both possessive and comforting. “I, uh… I’ve been pushing some boundaries as of late. If it’s all right, I’d rather not talk details."

“Don’t talk about anything you don’t want to,” the woman, Taye, interjects. “Nobody here’s your priest or a copper.” John stifles a laugh, because Greg doesn’t necessarily want to broadcast his profession in this club, and it might make the others uncomfortable. “Anyway, it wouldn’t be scary if it were easy to talk about. I want to do some fucked up psychological shit, but I’m nowhere near trying it out. I just like thinking about it." 

“And see, I think doing it might be easier than thinking about it,” John smiles. “But there’s less time for guilt when you’re right in the middle of someone fucking you up."

“If you’re doing it right,” Papa Bear agrees. 

“I feel less guilty just knowing there are other kinky fuckers like me wanting the same things,” Greg admits. “Part of why I picked this class for us—the more kinky people I meet, the less fucked up I feel for wanting it."

“Like what?” Drew asks, and John tries not to visibly bristle at the interest in the man’s tone. “Can I ask?"

Greg shrugs. “Sure… mostly… well, I like Taye’s phrase. ‘Fucked up psychological shit.’ I like figuring out how a sub ticks and then getting inside their head. Honestly, I _like_  figuring out what someone’s really genuinely afraid of, or what pushes their buttons, and tweaking that. Vulnerability turns me on, but so does taking care of them after. I think it’s that part that makes me feel all right about it, ultimately. Because I’ve seen how abusive people behave, so I have a point of comparison."

Taye starts to say something in response, but then the instructor brings the class back together. John’s only half paying attention, thinking about what Greg said. It probably shouldn’t make him half hard in his jeans to think about. But in some way, Greg’s particular motivations are a bit of a mystery, and he likes thinking about what might get Greg hot when it comes to topping him. He only pulls himself back into the thread when someone in the front row of chairs comes up to face the audience, and the instructor explains the demonstration.  

Sasha, the instructor explains, has an intense fear of heights. Another woman, introduced as Melanie, proceeds to bind Sasha tightly to a chair, which doesn’t make much sense to John until Melanie blindfolds her, then tips the chair back a few inches and Sasha instantly starts to panic. 

John’s initial reaction is to jump forward a bit in his seat in response to the distress. Greg seems to have anticipated that, and stops him with a firm arms across his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispers in John’s ear, shifting his arm around John, and he relaxes, though not entirely. It’s uncomfortable, watching someone have a legitimate panic attack, and it goes on longer than he would like before Melanie puts the legs of Sasha’s chair back on the ground, removes the blindfold, and starts to untie the rope. The instructor starts questioning her for the audience’s benefit before she’s stopped shaking or fully caught her breath. 

“I think it’s pretty obvious how much that triggered your fears. Why do you like this kind of play?"

“Because I’m out of control,” Sasha says, a little too quiet, and Melanie tells her to repeat it, louder, as she continues undoing knots. 

“Is it arousing, when you’re afraid?" 

“No… not really,” Sasha says, taking a few more breaths before she elaborates. “But the idea of it turns me on. It’s a fantasy about control for me… I’ve been in the scene long enough that she can hurt me as much as she wants and it’s kind of normal. But fearplay still pushes the edge in a really intense way."

“That was just a demo, obviously, but how would a scene like this normally play out for you before or after the fear element?"

“Before… not much. I actually like it to come out of nowhere. It hits the control part really hard for me, that she’ll just grab me in the middle of the day and scare the shit out of me.” John feels Greg’s arm tighten just a hair, and he can hear the man’s breathing accelerate. _Note for later_ , he thinks to himself. “After, I’m freaking out, more than right now, because it usually lasts longer. I can’t really think, sometimes, I forget that it’s her. She’ll hold me by the hair and look right into my eyes and push energy at me… I just get caught up in that, like an altered state." 

“And it literally is an altered state,” the instructor says for the audience’s benefit as Melanie finishes untying and stands behind Sasha’s chair, one palm firm against her chest. “You’re going to get similar brain chemicals going during a true fear play scene to what you’d experience in a fight or flight scenario, which can feel like a heightened version of the endorphins you experience from pain. Some people are physically aroused by it, but not necessarily. You might find other benefits. Anyone have examples of what they get from this kind of a scene?" 

“Wank material,” Melanie volunteers with a cheerful smile in contrast to the tough dyke persona John’s read from her so far in the class. Everyone laughs, and then John’s surprised that Greg raises his hand.

“I like what Sasha said about control,” Greg volunteers. “I feel the same way, from the other side. It freaked me out for a while at first, but I really get off on knowing that I have the option in a relationship to fuck with someone like that without warning. It hits a lot of buttons for me around power dynamics, and even if I’m too caught up in the practical part of pulling it off to really be thinking about it as sex, you can bet your last meal I’ll get off on that kind of psychological power trip more than almost anything else afterward." 

A few people laugh, and Greg grins his rogueish grin in response as the instructor moves to another point, but John just leans in a little more and lets his mind drift, picturing Greg jerking off to the mental image of catching John unawares, or messing deliberately with his head. It’s more fucked up a motive than most things John’s heard related to sex, far more personal than anonymous men calling him a cock pig in a filthy pub, but it also intrigues him more than it ought to. He imagines Greg grabbing him in an effective hold from behind, even pressing chloroform to his face, and waking up with a cock in his arse. He doesn’t think he’ll confess _that_  mental image any time soon, but the boundary-pushing nature of it and the degree of taboo even in a scene that’s all about pushing limits makes him reach to surreptitiously adjust himself. Greg eyes him with interest, but lets it go for now.

~*~

“Keep your kit on for now,” Greg offers, seeming to sense John’s trepidation in the space with more lights on and people casually milling than he’s used to. The playspace is friendly, but friendly isn’t John’s usual modus operandi. The dark, dank nature of the cruising spots and clubs he’s more familiar with always had the benefit of turning his damn brain off, reducing him to just another anonymous cock slut greedy for men in uniform. In those environments, no one cared who he was or what he wanted, and that was somehow comforting, at least when that was the kind of thing he needed. Here, people are politely interested in the scenes starting up around the large space dotted with dungeon furniture, and it’s harder to disappear into his fantasies. 

At least Greg’s picked a play station in a corner, one that’s not directly under a spotlight or next to the main aisle of traffic. There’s a dark gray mat that Greg’s scrubbed clean with one of the provided disinfectant wipes, and over it a sturdy wooden suspension frame with metal hardware bolted into it. A small table provides a space for arranging tools of the trade, but Greg just drops his bag next to it and tosses a few hanks of rope on the mat. 

He grabs John from behind first, pressing a bundle of rope firmly against his chest and breathing warm air just under his ear. “Close your eyes, boy. Focus on me for a minute."

John does as he’s told, jumping just a bit at the snapping sound of the rope being flung out of its neat coil. Greg binds him quickly and firmly, a chest harness over his shirt that leaves his arms free but gives him some sensation of restraint, submission coiling up in his head as fragile as smoke but building with Greg’s teeth applied to that same spot under his ear. Greg bites slowly at the tendon, locking the harness off, and then ties another one on his hips before he pushes John down to his knees. John hears his boots on the mat, coming around in front, and then Greg fists a hand in his hair, pain receptors firing sweetly in his scalp.

“You can open your eyes now, but keep them on my boots.” Said boots are simple, motorcycle touring boots without hardware or laces, but they’re well-kept and it’s fantasy enough to imagine Greg wearing them on the actual bike he used to own before his ex-wife persuaded him to sell. While John keeps his head down, Greg loops more rope through the back of the hip harness, and then reaches up for the suspension frame. John wonders what he’s doing, exactly, but quickly drops the train of thought when one heavy tread presses down on the middle of his back for balance. He folds forward obediently, chest almost to his thighs, hands flat on the mat. He can just keep the toe of the other boot in view, and his breathing starts to accelerate.

“There we are,” Greg announces, satisfied, after a minute, and the pressure leaves John’s back. Before he can right himself, though, there’s a sudden tug at the hip harness, and he finds himself with his arse in the air, pitching forward on his face. It’s not at all graceful, and Greg laughs a bit as John scrambles with his hands to try to get to all fours. “Don’t try that, boy. I’ll just take your arms.” John pauses, confused, and then the toe of a boot is nudged against his cheek. “This is where I want you. Lick." 

Hot shame flushes into John’s face, but at the same time blood pulses into his cock, and he turns his face to the side, abandoning the attempt to balance. Instead, his hand loosely hugs the boot, and his tongue bathes the leather covering Greg’s ankle. His face is hidden from any onlookers, at least, though he feels slightly ridiculous. Another tug lifts his hips even higher, his knees barely staying grounded on the mat and the rope biting into his thighs. He tries to lick hard enough to be felt through the boot, and isn't sure it’s doing anything specific for Greg until the man groans above him, carefully balancing his weight and then pressing the free boot between John’s shoulderblades. He moans and gets a little dirtier, worshipping the small patch of leather he can reach with his tongue. It’s a messy, slobbery job, and Greg just chuckles when he shifts as best he can under one boot and tries to get closer to the toe. 

“Take your time, slut. I haven’t got anywhere to be.” 

So John keeps licking, Greg letting him move just a few centimeters at a time, only pausing to gather more saliva when his tongue gets too dry against the leather. Greg keeps him in place with the other boot shifting around on his back, and he hopes in the recesses of his mind that there will be a print of dirt on his shirt. It’s the closest he’s ever come to sex with all his clothes on. Greg takes a brief break to kick his arse, literally, and orders him to keep his tongue out, waiting for Greg’s boots again as the heavy leather lays into his arse with jarring thuds. John’s panting like a dog, arse burning despite the protective barrier of his jeans, and he finds that he doesn’t even mind the thought of others watching. Greg’s boots come back into view and he applies himself to his task on the one he hasn’t licked yet with twice as much enthusiasm, listening to the unmistakeable sounds of Greg starting to jerk off over him and feeling utterly owned.

_Daddy_ , he thinks, stretching his mouth wide around the toe, making his jaw ache even as he moans, _thank you_. Even without words, he suspects Greg gets the message.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John continues to integrate his little side further into himself, while Greg embraces the darker parts of his kink and introduces some new rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are going to think I'm an impostor, posting another chapter so quickly. But I've been terribly encouraged by all your positive feedback. I love reaching folks for whom this is a new kink, as well as all the bigs and littles who want more ageplay fic out there. *hugs* to all of you.

Greg’s delayed late enough tonight that John ends up falling asleep without him, curled up under the blankets in his t-shirt and his pants. He hasn’t got anywhere else to be, and Greg gave him a key a few weeks ago, for logistical purposes. So it’s to the sounds of Greg coming into the bedroom that he wakes, watching in the dim light coming from the sitting room as Greg strips out of his jacket, then puts his handcuffs and his wallet and his phone on the dresser. From John’s position in the bed, feeling cozy and warm, the sense of Daddy coming home after a day of work is heightened, and he lets himself indulge in the fantasy, pushing the covers down just to his stomach and biting lightly at the tip of a finger. It doesn't hurt, of course, that Daddy is a police officer, and gorgeous to boot.

“Ah, did I wake you, lad?” Greg asks with a knowing smile, catching his eye. He comes over to the side of the bed and gives John’s hair a little ruffle.

“Uh-uh,” John replies, shaking his head a little, voice slightly rough from sleep. It’s easier like this to sink directly into a headspace, Greg’s hand stroking firmly over his forehead and brushing his hair back. 

“Not lying to me, are you?” Greg raises his eyebrows and John grins a little, looks to the side. “Hmm. Not sure I should give you your present, in that case."

“Present?” John asks, genuinely surprised. “What is it?"

“I don’t know. Are you going to be a good boy or no?"

“Good,” John promises, reaching his arms out for a hug. Greg laughs and bends over, pressing his lips to John’s cheek, and lets himself be squeezed before standing up and going to the closet. 

“I noticed you grabbing at the sheets the last time I fucked you,” Greg explains abruptly, and John blushes all the way to his core at a word that would hardly phase him in his everyday mental space. “I thought you might like something nice and comforting to hold onto when I take you,” he continues, returning from the closet with a soft, plush, floppy-eared tan rabbit wearing a green jumper. John takes it from him, still blushing tremendously, and hugs it to his chest. It’s small, but substantial enough to hug, and its fur is amazing to stroke. Even the jumper is quite soft. Greg leans over him as he holds it and whispers, low in his ear. 

“You can have him whenever you like. I want my boy to have something to snuggle when Daddy needs to fuck his arse. Just like that,” he coos, putting his hand over John’s and guiding it along the bunny’s back. His cock rubs lazily against John’s hip through his trousers, and John whimpers just a bit. “Do you like it?"

John nods. “Thank you for my present, Daddy.” 

“What do you think you’ll call him?” Greg asks, still making slow circles with his hips.

“Um… how about Baxter?” John suggests, picking the first idea that comes to mind.

“I think that’s a lovely name,” Greg agrees. “Now take off your pants for me, Johnny. Leave the shirt.” Greg pushes back up to standing, going to the closet again, and John pushes his pants down his hips, pulling the sheet back over them when he feels exposed. Greg comes back with a bundle of rope in his hand, grinning again.

“I want to have some fun, but you’ll still get to snuggle Baxter,” Greg promises, helping John to sit up and then starting to tie him with his arms indeed crossed over the bunny, holding him tight. His hands are positioned so that his thumbs touch his cheeks, and though the rope is tight it’s not uncomfortable. It’s more psychologically jarring when Greg does his legs, bending each at the knee and tying them so that his heels are near his bum, his hips splayed open and leaving access to his ass. He blushes and his mouth finds one thumb, sucking lightly at it as Greg pops open the lube and starts to rub gently at his arsehole, still fully dressed.

“It’s…getting hard, Daddy,” John mumbles, somewhat obviously, around his thumb, as his cock starts to respond to the treatment. It's embarassing sometimes, but he's become used to following Greg's rule over the past few weeks with Greg's strict adherence to discipline (usually in the form of denied orgasms) to remind him.

“Mm, good boy,” Greg rumbles, his eyes locked between John’s legs even as he reaches for John’s cockring on the nightstand, snaps it into place, and then keeps right on going with his fingers stroking John’s hole. “Love watching you wink open for me."

John tries to hide his face, squirming a bit, but Greg’s gentle touch and the dirty words accompanying it help him to relax and accept each finger as it presses inside. He can’t pet the bunny in this position, but its fur feels soft under his chin and if he moves his head slightly from side to side it’s rather comforting. The ring, too, is comforting in an odd way with its snug grip around his cock as it fills. Soon, Greg’s climbing between his legs, bracing himself over John and pushing inside in one sharp, determined movement.

“Oh!” John cries around his thumb, now drooling just slightly from the corner of his mouth because he doesn’t want to let go. Greg groans and pets John’s hair with a shaky hand. 

“Good boy,” Greg mutters. “Daddy’s in charge now. Just relax for me, everything will be fine if you’ve been good,” he promises in a light singsong, kissing along John’s jaw. John does relax in return, the ropes supporting him despite their sharp bite, Daddy’s cock a comforting pressure against his insides. 

“You _have_  been good, right?” Greg asks next, right at his ear, and John shivers suddenly at the more menacing tone. He nods quickly, and cries out at a sharper thrust. “Don’t lie to me,” Greg murmurs, his voice pitched low, and John just whimpers again. He can’t think of any real or perceived slights he might have committed, unless Greg wants to pretend. He’s not quite sure what to do, but then Greg grips his hair hard, and he just sucks harder at his thumb in response.

“God, you little slut,” Greg growls. “Cuddle your sweet little bunny and let me fuck you wide open. You're not going anywhere,” he bites out, and John shivers again, this time with just as much arousal as fear. The rope and Greg’s weight and the darkened room are getting to him, making him feel like he really is Greg’s dirty little secret, like he really could get into trouble if he does anything wrong. It yanks him further down into subspace, even beyond his feeling of being little, and he realizes that there are tears in his eyes as he stares up at Greg, whimpering desperately and trying to rub his cock against Greg somehow in a more satisfying way. In response, Greg licks at the junction of his mouth and his thumb, following a tear track up his cheek, and holds him hard as he keeps fucking John further into submission.  

John starts to shake just as Greg’s thrusts become erratic and his Daddy groans out his orgasm. When Greg is done, John’s relieved that he doesn’t untie any of the knots right away. He does coax John’s mouth from his thumb, though, and encourages him to suck on Daddy’s tongue instead.

~*~

“I want there to be some more rules for you,” Greg declares in the morning, as John’s making tea. His gut clenches in delighted anticipation, though he tries to look calm as he glances back with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah? What sorts of rules?"

“I’ve been thinking about it. I don't believe in rules with no purpose," he explains, stepping close, pressing against John's back with the ostensible excuse of putting bread in the toaster. His hand skims the back of John's neck, then tightens, a possessive grip. "Right now, what I want most from you is your honesty. You already tell me when you're hard," he points out casually, pushing the lever down and brushing his lips over John's ear, "so now you're to tell me exactly what you _think_ about when you're hard. Whenever you find yourself conjuring a new fantasy in your head, you're to type it up for me as soon as you get a chance. And if you're alone and want to wank, you're to type it up _before_ you jerk off. I want you to type 'Dear Daddy, my penis is hard because...' and finish the sentence. Then you're allowed to make yourself come. Any questions?" 

"No," John replies, a hitch in his voice making it come out higher than usual. "My...it's hard, Daddy," he whispers.

"Good boy," Greg grins, kissing his neck. "Thank you for telling me." Reaching around John, he takes one of the mugs and removes the tea bag, tossing it in the bin. "Oh, one more rule, I think. No trousers in my flat. If you're cold, you can put jim jams on, but no jeans or work trousers. Little boys don't need those," he declares with a rogueish grin and John blushes, taking a sip of his own tea. He is perhaps just a little fucked.

~*~

"I have a proposition," Sherlock declares one afternoon a few weeks later. His tone is as imperious as usual, but he also appears to be slightly uncomfortable. 

"Yeah?" John raises his eyebrows. "You're not going to try to adjust the biohazard rules in the kitchen again, are you? Cause I still eat there."

"No, no," Sherlock flicks a hand dismissively. "This is something else entirely. You didn't attend public school, but perhaps you are nonetheless familiar with the concept of the sock on the bedroom door?" 

"Yes..." John frowns. "Sherlock, we've never actually had sex here. Your delicate sensibilities are safe."

"I know _that_." Sherlock wrinkles his nose. "And I wouldn't be bothered if you did, in the privacy of your own bedroom. This concerns somewhat more _direct_  observation, John, if you wouldn't mind, I would appreciate an agreement to keep _certain_  text files in a dedicated folder that I will agree not to..."

"Oh Christ, Sherlock!" John explains, going red. He does not need to think about his flatmate reading his personal sex fantasies. But then, after a moment, he laughs. Sherlock's never made him feel bad about his kink, and this is just desserts, perhaps. "So if I leave those files all over my computer," he suggests, "will you stop _snooping_ on it?"

"I do not _snoop_! I investigate!"

"Well in that case, I'll just be certain to make your investigations as entertaining as possible..." John grins to himself as Sherlock flounces off to his bedroom, groaning, and slips his phone out to text Greg. A new way to teach Sherlock personal boundaries can't be kept to himself. 

~*~

"I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to focus through this meal," Greg admits, and John smirks a bit as he licks his fork downright suggestively.

"Do I look good in a suit, Sir?" he asks, pitching his voice low enough that the other diners can't hear. 

"You look good fellating your meal," Greg half-growls. "But yes, now that you mention it..."

John smiles and sips from his wine glass. "I'm surprised you got a reservation. I didn't expect Valentine's Day to be your thing."

Greg shrugs. "It's not, exactly, but you like romantic gestures."

"Do I?" John smiles. "Well, I suppose that's true. I don't think about it much."

"Yeah." Greg's hand slips into John's under the table. "I do too, though... honestly, sometimes I feel like a right arse, like I might be misleading you." 

John frowns. "I strongly doubt that. Misleading how?" 

"Well...I feel comfortable with the day-to-day stuff that you like. I know that I can be a good Daddy to you in that way," he says quietly, leaning forward across the table to be heard. "And I understand that you need that. But the kind of stuff you like, it may be erotic and embarassing for you but it's ultimately really sweet, init?" Greg's gaze drops to the table, his thumb idly rubbing back and forth on John's hand.

"I suppose I feel that I'm not being completely honest with you, because you're having this affirming experience where you assume that I'm safer than whatever anonymous arsehole you might meet in those seedy clubs, because I do my kink in relationships and I enjoy romance sometimes. But really, a lot of what I _like_ about this kind of relationship is that I can really learn all of your weak spots and find out how to poke at them. I've got this... small part of my brain, I suppose, always running in the background, cataloging things to exploit for when I can get into really psychological and emotional scenes with you, like what we talked about in that class." Greg smiles, sheepishly, squeezing John's hand and finally looking up. "I do intend to be safe with it, but I can't deny that there are some bloody dark parts of my brain that look at you and see this sweet, guileless boy at your core that I can be really kind to and then truly fuck up once I get to know him. I have a predatory side."

John smiles at that. "Never would've guessed, Sir. It's all right," he adds. "You know I'm not afraid of danger. And I didn't think you were all sunshine and roses. I love it when you frighten me a bit."

"John," Greg groans, eating a bite of his meal one handed. "Stop feeding the demons."

"What if I want to?" John teases. "Self preservation isn't sexy." More serious, he lets go of Greg's hand to squeeze his knee. "What is it that scares you, exactly, if you know I'm consenting?"

"I...I think that I might be too fucked up to consent to, in some ways," Greg admits, scrubbing a hand through his hair and giving John an apologetic look that makes him almost lean across the table for a kiss right there on the spot. "It's hard to consent to being manipulated, if fucking with your head is the whole point. I mean, I want to find the buttons I can push to take total control from time to time, beyond what most people would consider sane. I want to know how to legitimately frighten you, how to push you deep and then take care of you as you come back up. That's the kind of nurturing I really find appealing, where you're honestly dependent in a lot of ways, and that gets close to some really abusive shite."

"But it isn't abusive," John points out firmly. "Because your ultimate goal isn't to break me, or make me completely dependent, is it?"

"Well, no. Obviously not."

"And I'm an independent adult, in the end." John smiles. "I'm being perfectly honest, Greg. What you're describing sounds hot to me. Even if I can't consent to every moment to make it real, I give you permission to do it. If you give me time to come back up to you, as long as you're not causing permanent damage or playing with unsafe sex or making me bleed without asking, I want to explore this with you." Feeling bold in their somewhat private booth, John lifts his hand and presses his fingertips to Greg's mouth. "I want it. No one has ever asked me to go to those places, and I want to with you. Because the mindfuck turns me on, but also mostly because you're asking."

Greg doesn't respond right away, but holds John's gaze for a long moment, and just when it's getting uncomfortable, takes John's hand and kisses the back of it. "Well. Be my Valentine, then?" 

John giggles and nods. "God, yes."

~*~ 

In Greg's en suite where no one else will see it, next to the bathroom mirror, is a colorful child's star chart, complete with little sparkly star stickers to affix next to the various accomplishments written in magic marker. "Wrote an especially hot fantasy for Daddy" sits alongside "used my words to ask for something I needed" and "showed patience." Greg has already pressed a few stickers to the chart, though he's sparing with them, and John finds himself feeling genuine pride as a result when he's tapped into his little side. At the bottom of the chart, potential rewards are indicated, but John's name isn't written anywhere that it might be seen by a visitor.

Sometimes, Greg chooses to bathe him in this room, but this Saturday afternoon John opts for a quicker shower while Greg is finishing up work at the Yard. He's had an unusually relaxing couple of days, with no shifts scheduled at the clinic and no interrupting case-related texts from Sherlock. He doesn't expect that to last, in fact he half assumes that he'll get a barrage of texts followed by a call every time they start having sex, but he doesn't want to tempt fate. When he hears Greg at the door, followed by the familiar clink of his keys in their dish, his first thought is in fact whether they can get another round in. 

"Daddy!" he calls teasingly. "I was just about to put my pants on, you have good timing."

There's not an immediate reply, but after a moment there is a cleared throat, and a voice that makes John freeze, eyes wide open.

"Nonetheless, you might desire to continue dressing, Doctor, as I have some business to which we must attend."

"Shit," John mutters under his breath, then hurriedly tugs his pants and tshirt on and wraps the towel around his waist as an afterthought, since he hasn't brought any trousers in. He's tempted to hide in the bathroom, but the damage is essentially done, so he sheepishly steps into the sitting room where he finds Mycroft standing with a very apologetic-looking Greg.

"Sorry, Mycroft, I had no idea--I mean, obviously--I didn't want to freak you out--"

"Please, Doctor Watson," Mycroft interrupts his stammering, giving John a quick up and down that doubtless encompasses his entire sex life. "Your... affinities are hardly new to me, nor are they my business. Now, to the point, if you please, my brother. When did you last see him?"

John scrunches his face, putting his embarassment aside to focus on the more pressing possibility of a Sherlock-related crisis. "Thursday before tea. But I've been here. Why?" 

“He hasn't contacted you?" 

"No. Was it... do you think it might have been a danger night?" John frowns. Far from naive, he's never been under the illusion that Sherlock won't use from time to time, despite his relatively healthy present situation. John doesn't want to think about the possibility of his own recent tendency to spend the night elsewhere contributing to the likelihood of relapses, but Mycroft shakes his head briskly. 

"He'd be easier to find in that case. I suspect he's gone to see an old friend," Mycroft suggests enigmatically. "You needn't worry yourself. His life is not at risk, only my sanity." Mycroft sighs and tips an imaginary hat. "Gentlemen. Apologies." 

John watches him leave, sputtering a bit, and Greg shrugs. "Sorry. I thought you were going to Tescos."

"Got back. Obviously. Christ. That was... Well, yeah." He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head and taking a few deep breaths. "Suppose there's not much I can do, now." 

Greg steps in, hugging him close. "Not really. But we know he can keep a secret, at least."

"That's... something." John laughs shakily into his chest. "What do you think he meant?" he asks after a moment, slipping his arms around Greg's waist. "That my affinities are hardly new to him?"

"Dunno. Maybe he paid Irene Adler to spank his posh bottom once." 

"Oh God!" John groans at the image.

"Or maybe he keeps some young, beautiful boyfriend locked in his closet?"

"What, literally?" John titters, unable to contain himself. 

"Maybe it's Prince Harry," Greg teases, and for that John smacks his arm.

"Stop!" They join in a round of laughter, and when it's stopped John realizes he's far less traumatized than he should be.

"C'mon," Greg suggests, leading John back into the bedroom and helping him out of towel and into a pair of Greg's own blue flannel pyjamas. He bends down to roll the legs, which are a bit long, up into cuffs, and John blushes, hugging himself round the middle. 

"D'you think we should worry about Sherlock?" he asks before his head slips too far.

"Nah. Mycroft sounded more exasperated than worried. He's probably just faffed off with this old mate and Mycroft doesn't approve."

"Yeah. Strange to think of Sherlock having an old mate he stays in touch with." 

"Scientist, maybe. Someone 'interesting.' I get the feeling Sherlock does have people who interest him, he just doesn't normally stick around. Likely one of those. Now what do you say? Want to watch a film?"

"Yeah," John agrees, and grabs for Baxter, who's sitting on the bed, by one ear. "And a snuggle."

Greg grins, tweaking John's ear. "Mandatory."

John laughs and leads the way to the sitting room. “Is it bad that I wouldn’t mind if Sherlock stayed away until the end of the weekend?"

“Sounds like a reasonable desire to me,” Greg replies, crouching down to search through the DVD collection kept in a cabinet under the television. “I don’t think anyone would blame you for wanting to take a break from child minding."

“Yeah,” John smiles, settling on the sofa. “I suppose I just wonder… I find myself wanting to be here a lot. And I suppose part of why Mycroft finding out whatever he just found out isn’t as shocking as it could be is that this side of myself keeps taking over more of my brain.” He tucks his feet up on the sofa, hugging his knees. “I mean, it’s always been secret…I used to try to push it down as much as possible. I didn’t think of it as _me_ , it was this infection that took over my brain from time to time. But now I feel the most like myself when I’m with you."

“That sounds like a good thing to me,” Greg argues, standing back up again without having picked a film and joining John on the sofa, one arm slipping around his shoulders and pulling him in close. “It’s not healthy to hide something like this. And it _is_  part of you."

“Right, but… it’s still not something I can tell everyone and show all the time. I don’t want to be some kinky caricature of myself." 

“No, but Sherlock doesn’t treat you like that, does he? And he knows. It’s not really anyone’s business if you don’t want it to be. You can express it here."

“And you don’t mind having me around so often? Or that I… sort of slip into the little boy side, with you?"

“Not at all. I _like_  having you around so often,” Greg argues, giving him a tight squeeze and kissing the top of his head. “It makes my flat feel more like an actual home. And I like that you feel comfortable slipping into being my boy. Though if you want to spend more time with Sherlock, that’s also fine."

“I don’t think so? I can try to find a way to ask him if he feels neglected without actually asking him. I don’t think he’d respond to a direct question.” 

“No,” Greg agrees. “I may be able to get at it, as well. But you shouldn’t feel guilty, any road. You’re a good lad, and you deserve to play around with the things that push your buttons,” he insists, kissing John’s head. “All right?"

“Yeah, all right. Put a film in, then.” 

“Yes, sir,” Greg jokes, ruffling John’s hair and returning to the DVD cabinet. “How do you and Baxter feel about Pixar?” 

 ~*~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things continue to get deeper in Greg and John's relationship. A scare, a case, and a lot of pervy sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for the generosity of all your comments. They really keep me going, even when I'm not able to respond promptly. I also apologize for how slowly I write, but there will be at least one more chapter.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: This chapter includes some really intense, dark consensual play. There's con non-con, molestation play, and mindfuckery along with our usual sexual ageplay. All play is consensual according to the RACK (risk-aware consensual kink) standard, including safewords and discussion post-scene, but you may want to be aware if any of these things trigger you.

The closest light switch to the front door of Greg’s flat is at least a meter away from the doorframe. It's enough distance that when John arrives before Greg he typically lets himself in and locks the door behind himself, tossing the keys in their dish, before he bothers to do anything about the darkened sitting room. He’s thus taken totally by surprise when he’s grabbed, shoved up against the wall, and an arm is wrenched up behind his back. He tries to stomp down hard on the man’s toe, but misses, and before he can find his next opening the attacker’s mouth is at his ear with a voice he recognizes, despite the persistence of his adrenaline spike. 

“Struggle if you like,” the “intruder” growls, inching his arm higher up to the point of pain. “Mummy and Daddy aren’t home right now.” He then pushes down, hard, on John’s shoulder, and he hits his knees.

John’s blood is racing at the surprise attack, his headspace less little than combative, but Greg’s hand drops fondly into his hair as he steps around John to face him, brushing through it before he clamps his palm firmly over John’s mouth, flipping the light switch with the other hand. “There are a couple of rules if you don’t want anything bad to happen tonight,” he warns in a voice that’s somehow both soothing and pure evil. “No screaming. If you want to scream, boy, I’ll plug your mouth up with something you won’t like. Nod if you understand.” Greg’s voice is altered a bit, a rougher accent and a slightly deeper register, enough for John’s subconscious to sit up and take notice. He nods and the hand leaves his mouth, returns to his hair.

“Struggle if it makes you feel better,” Greg repeats, pressing his hand to the back of John’s head and forcing his face against Greg’s cock, half-hard under his jeans. “It won’t stop anything that’s happening to you. Might make it a bit quicker. I _like_ boys who struggle."

“Please,” John whimpers finally, getting into character. “Stop."

“Aw,” Greg grins. “But I haven’t even told you what I’m going to do to you yet, Johnny. You might even like it."

“I don’t think so,” John murmurs, before Greg tugs him up by his arm and walks him forcefully over to the sofa, shoving him onto his stomach. Greg straddles his hips, putting his weight on John’s bum. “How do you know my name?” John asks, intentionally heightening the fear in his tone. He’s rewarded by an audible hitch in Greg’s breath and a little jerk of his hips.

“Oh, I know lots of things about you and your family, Johnny,” Greg purrs, leaning down to lick the back of John’s neck. “I know the kind of boy you are."

“I’m a good boy,” John says determinedly, trying to squirm away from Greg’s tongue, pushing his hands under his head to cushion it and letting his imagination fill in the details of the scene. He imagines the revulsion of a strange man touching him, someone who isn’t actually his Daddy. “I didn’t do anything wrong."

“No,” Greg agrees in a low tone, slowly rubbing his cock against John’s cleft. “You didn’t do anything wrong at all… fuck, boy,” he growls, broken off. “You’re making me so hard."

John rubs his cheek against his hand, whimpering. “Please stop."

“Not a chance,” Greg growls, reaching under John to unbuckle his belt and shove his trousers and pants down all at once. John yelps and tries to reach down for them, but Greg just wrestles his arms back up into place. “Yeah, that’s a sweet arse,” Greg mutters, still rubbing against it even through his jeans. John blushes and squirms, grabbing the sofa cushion. “You ever been fucked, boy?"

“I… I don’t understand,” John mumbles. “Please, let me go. I won’t tell anybody.”  

“Mmm, fuck, yeah. You’re doing such a good job, Johnny. You don’t have to understand.” John feels fingers prying at his hole, cold and slick. He squirms a bit more and cries out when two of Greg’s intrusive fingers push inside, sinking into the fantasy of not actually being able to escape or understand what’s happening to him. He lets his mind float, dissociating from his actual sexual knowledge and just feeling the sensation of thick fingers breaching him on their own merits. 

“Ah-ah-ah,” John cries, rubbing his face against his hand again. Greg bends down, his breath hot against John’s ear and his voice still distorted. 

“Did your mum never warn you about how some men like to fuck sweet little boys like you?” he asks rhetorically, and John just whimpers into his hand. He hears the snick of a zipper, and the crinkle of a foil wrapper, and then feels the blunt head of a cock pushing between his cheeks. Something gets loose in his chest and he cries as Greg slowly fucks into him, but he doesn’t feel a desire to safeword, instead shifting his hips to feel his cock rub against the cushion, the roughness of the upholstery a bittersweet relief. “Yeah,” Greg growls in his ear. “Attaboy. Told you I knew just what kind of boy you are. Little prick’s hard already, isn’t it?" 

John just whimpers, and then is caught off guard by a sudden, deep thrust, open jeans abrading his skin as Greg’s hips meet his arse. “ _Isn’t_  it?” Greg repeats, and John sobs back a response. 

“Yes!" 

“ _Fuck_  yeah,” Greg exclaims, shoving into him with a consistent rhythm now, a little upward hitch at the end of each selfish thrust. “I can tell. You like to rub your little cock at night, think about rubbing it against your Daddy’s thighs instead when you sit in his lap. Most little boys - would be scared now - oh, _fuck -_ would be scared, not turned on - but you just want to rub your little cock like a big boy… what do you think that says about you?"

John doesn’t have an answer, just keeps thrusting against the cushions, pushing up on his arms now, shakily joining in Greg’s rhythm. He’s crying and fucking himself back onto Greg’s cock, and when he comes it starts out almost dull but then explodes and makes him gasp for air, his hands jerking and grabbing at nothing. Greg thrusts a few more times and then growls in deep satisfaction, stilling inside John and biting down on the back of his neck like an afterthought. His weight settles over John and they lie like that a long time, in the dark. 

~*~

"So...that was a lot," Greg says, scrubbing his hand through his hair as he sits down on the sofa. They've had a long cuddle and Greg’s brewed tea, while John’s changed into t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He's about half little now, settled in the comfortable halfway point between headspaces where he often rests at Greg's flat, holding Baxter under his arm as he sips his tea. When Greg sits, John snuggles in, crushing the stuffed bunny between them. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, I think," John replies, his tone soft but lucid. "I didn't see that coming."

"No," Greg laughs. "Kind of the point."

"Was it good for you?" John asks. "Was it what you wanted?" It comes out whinier than he'd normally be comfortable with, but Greg responds quickly, cutting off any contrary thoughts. 

"It was bloody brilliant," Greg confesses. "I felt...safe, going there with you." He sips his tea and smirks a bit. "Not the most domly dom answer, I'm aware." 

John giggles. "Because that's obviously what I'm after, Daddy." He takes a few sips of his own brew. "I'm glad you felt safe. I want to do things that make you feel that way." 

"Yeah? You might like to explore that sort of thing again, then?"

"From time to time," John agrees. "I think... not too often. I need...the other side, too." _To be taken care of absolutely,_ he doesn't say, but that's how he feels when Greg holds the reigns and steps into Daddy mode. "But you know I like darker authority stuff, too. I can play with that kink." 

"Excellent," Greg smiles. "And don't you think I'm giving up on the other stuff, lad," he adds, the arm around John squeezing him closer. "Not for the world." 

~*~

In the first few days after a trying case, John has to do his level best not to hit blind panic mode. It couldn't be helped, exactly, once they were in the situation and they realized the suspect's trap too late, but it's still terrifying that he and Sherlock, plus Greg and two of his team members, have been exposed to HIV-infected blood. John could barely sleep the first night after the exposure, despite post-case exhaustion, and it doesn't help that he's stuck in the flat with Sherlock, Greg still tying up loose ends, and dealing with unpleasant nausea due to the oPEP course they've all started. 

As a medical professional, he knows it's unlikely that any of them were infected, and even if they were, that HIV isn't a death sentence. But as someone who started having sex with men in the 80s, it's no less terrifying.

"Time for a dose," John announces as Sherlock examines something in his microscope, shaking out pills for each of them. Sherlock swallows his without complaint and goes back to the slides. When John had lectured him, initially, about the importance of remembering doses, he’d only responded with derision -- "I carefully injected cocaine for several years sterile needles, John, I'm hardly going to risk it now."

"Feeling all right?" John prods, and Sherlock smirks.  

"Mild lethargy, which is better than I can say for you given your average time spent on the toilet over the past 24 hours."

The scatalogical comment hardly phases him, given Sherlock's typical lack of boundaries. “At least it's just one of us," John sighs. "Greg's not too bad off either, if you care."

Sherlock hums non-commitally. “He’s more annoyed than you are. This entire affair is leading him to question the futility of his safer sex practices.” 

“ _Pardon_?” 

“He clearly feels betrayed by falling on the wrong side of chance. Illogical,” Sherlock snorts. “But he enjoys sex without condoms, for some reason I couldn’t _possibly_  fathom, and isn’t pleased that he’s forgone more pleasurable risky behaviors for most of his adult life only to wind up potentially infected due to an unpleasant professional situation."

“I…” John raises a hand and scrubs it over his face. “I don’t think I should actually respond to any of that.” 

“But you’re going to anyway.” 

John frowns, considers proving Sherlock wrong, but one thing gnaws at him. “How on earth do you know that he likes sex without condoms? He didn’t _tell_ you that.” 

“Of course not. But explaining it to you would be… a bit not good.” 

“I… all right,” John concedes begrudgingly, as he has to at least acknowledge it when Sherlock actually notices that something is “a bit not good.” Besides, he’s not so sure he _wants_ to know how Sherlock goes about deducing sexual preferences.  

~*~

In the end, he just asks. They all finish the drugs course and the initial 4- and 6-week tests HIV-free, and once John's over the initial period of relief (both at the results and at being finally free of the side effects), he broaches the subject over dinner.

“Can I ask you something a bit sensitive? There’s no right or wrong answer,” he starts, shifting a bit in his chair. Greg raises his eyebrows in return.  

“Sure. What’s on your mind, lad?" 

John blushes a little at the endearment. “After everything that’s happened lately, I just wondered… well, we’ve never talked in much detail about sexual history. Which is fine,” he adds quickly. “Since we use condoms. But I’m curious if you’ve ever… y’know, if you’ve ever gone without in a relationship. I assume with your wife, but I never asked."

“Ah.” Greg takes a breath and pushes back his chair a bit, sipping from his pint glass of ale. “I did with blokes few stupid times when I was young… and yeah, I was fluid-bonded while I was married, since she was on birth control. Thank God she respected the fluid bond and used condoms, even when she was cheating.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t since then."

John nods. “I actually haven’t. Ever. Not for full-on sex, at least.” He blushes a bit. “I do like… when I blow someone, I enjoy…” He can’t _quite_ put it into words, but Greg grins in understanding.

“You like having come on your face. I knew _that_ , lad. I’ve noticed.” 

The blush deepens. “Ah…right.” 

“Are you asking, then? If I want to fluid bond with you?"

John bites his lip, and takes a bite of his food to stall. “I think so,” he admits after he’s swallowed. “I suppose… there’s risk no matter what you do. I know that as a doctor, but this was a wake-up call. And I trust you to be honest with me. If you wanted to have sex with someone else, I’d rather just know." 

“You would,” Greg promises. “I’m serious about that. And the same for me, even if it seems remote… this isn’t something I’m willing to do without that agreement.  It’s a bit of a sore point, after what happened, but I’d like to try."

“You’re sure? I mean… you can say no if it’s not something you want." 

“No, I’m sure.” Greg grins a bit cheekily. “This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of it, boy. Fucking you raw _is_  something I want.” 

John gulps and his eyes drop to the floor. He has this funny feeling he’s in for it, and couldn’t be happier. 

~*~

John’s on his front, a pillow under his hips, his cheek resting on Baxter’s fluffy belly. It’s a favorite position of his, despite the way it makes him feel exposed enough to heat his cheeks and raise gooseflesh on his arms. Maybe because of that, more accurately. His hole is sore and stretched from a demanding fucking, but now Greg is being incredibly tender, his fingers prodding gently at John's stretched sphincter. Two twist inside, and then John’s blush deepens as he feels the way they slide back out, coaxing Greg’s come back out to dribble down against his perineum.  

“S’gonna be itchy,” he mutters into the stuffed rabbit’s ear. “ _Daddy_."

“Then I’ll give you a bath after,” Greg promises, a mental laugh implied in his tone of voice. His free hand presses firmly into the small of John’s back, holding him in place as he gives John a slow, deep, and thorough fingerfucking with his own semen as lubricant. “How does your penis feel, baby?"

“It feels good,” John mumbles. “But… but it kind of hurts, too."

“Your penis or your arsehole, baby? Tell me.”  

John whimpers at a firmer little jab, Greg’s fingers pushing down against his sensitive prostate. “Ahh! My… my… inside, Daddy. In between, it hurts. And my penis. It feels… kind of badandgood,” he mumbles in one slurred string. His mind really does regress in this headspace, sometimes significantly, down to simple words and simple observations. Daddy makes it easy with simple questions, though sometimes they make John blush because he knows as a little boy that it’s wrong ( _but so right_ ) that Daddy makes him feel so squirmy, like he’s ready to pop off. 

“Good boy,” Greg purrs, curling his fingers rhythmically as he slowly fucks into his boy with three fingers. “Thank you for telling me how it feels. I only want to make it better.” He bends over John’s back and licks a stripe behind John’s ear, and John giggles and squirms a bit, unintentionally making Daddy stretch him wider. The free hand slides down from John’s back, squeezing his bum a handful at a time, and John moans into Baxter’s fur. 

“Tell Baxter how you’re feeling, baby. You know he doesn’t mind keeping your secrets for you.” 

“I feel… dirty,” John whispers to the bunny, slowly losing the thread but trying his best to follow Daddy’s instruction. “My bum feels wet inside.” Greg’s fingers drag more come out of his arse, painting it up the line of his crack, and then push back inside. Unable to help himself, he starts to undulate his hips more purposefully, rubbing his cock against the pillow and shoving his arse up and back at the apex of each movement. “I feel warm… too warm,” he gasps, impaling himself on Daddy’s fingers as they get into a rhythm together. He feels Daddy’s breath hot between his shoulder blades, and he knows that the way he talks to the stuffed animal is turning him on, so he tries not to stop. “I feel… ah!… my penis… oh God… my penis…. it’s so hard… so… Daddy!” he cries out.

“Are you gonna make a mess?” Greg pants, words thick against the back of John’s neck. “Mess the pillow for Daddy?” A hand comes around and swipes lukewarm spunk across his cheek. John moans and opens his mouth to catch Greg’s fingers, nodding frantically. Greg keeps fucking him, fast now, fingers making squelching noises as they plough into his arse. He mouths desperately at two fingers and takes them almost into his throat, sucking so hard the roof of his mouth aches, until he comes with a loud desperate humming sound. His cock spurts hot against his belly, mashed up to the pillow that he very well may have to sleep on later. Greg is making pleased cooing sounds above him, kissing the back of his neck and the top of his spine. He breathes slowly through his nose, still suckling as he comes down, his body going boneless without shifting position. His eyes fall shut and everything fades to a low hum of contentment. Daddy will take care of him. 

~*~

Sherlock always gets particularly excited about any code he doesn’t recognize, and so he’s almost bouncing on his feet as he examines a string of three bodies, arranged lying side-by-side and holding hands in death, freshly tattooed with an odd string of characters across the upper chests. The women are fully dressed, all in smart suits, plain-looking but pretty with hair and makeup styled for work in the City. The scene isn’t particularly gruesome, but for the blood pooled under their hips that has spread in a wide puddle. Their legs have been rearranged, pressed together to mostly obscure the bloody evidence of having been impaled on some unknown weapon. Not a cause of death John particularly enjoys hearing, but he stands gamely by as Sherlock puzzles over the tattoos.

“Serial killer?"

“No,” Sherlock judges abruptly. “This is a one-off.” He then goes silent, thousand-yard stare to match, and John gives up on trying to get information out of him. A copper finishes photographing the scene and heads back to the squad car at the end of the alley with his camera, leaving the three of them temporarily alone though visible from the street. Greg rolls his eyes as Sherlock continues his apparent catatonia, and John smiles a bit. 

“Are you staying at mine tonight?” Greg asks conversationally, but he’s interrupted by Sherlock’s sudden bark.

“ _Thinking_!” He doesn’t budge, otherwise. John rolls his own eyes and just nods in response to Greg’s question. Greg’s eyes dart towards his colleagues a few meters away, then, evidently satisfied no one’s watching, he grins and very briefly sticks his tongue out, miming a long lick at John. John bursts into laughter, unable to help himself, and doesn’t stop when Sherlock huffs loudly, breaks his thinking pose, and snaps a photo of the corpses with his phone. “You’re worse than schoolboys,” he declares, then traipses off down the alley. “I shall consider the evidence, _alone_. I’ll text when I have something!"

Greg just snickers, showing no sign of repentance. “Back to the Yard, then. Have fun with him."

John sighs, letting Greg lead him down the alley and lift the crime scene tape for him to pass under. “Don’t I always?”  

~*~ 

The tattoos have Sherlock completely mesmerized, and there’s pretty much nothing at all that John can do once his skills at Google research have been exhausted. Nor does Sherlock assign him any tasks related to the case, so when Greg texts that he’s home a little before nine, John heads over to the inspector’s flat straight away.

While Sherlock still sometimes acts a bit petty in between cases when Greg uses too much of John’s time—though he can’t come up with a reason why he actually needs to see John more and promised Greg in what John gathers was a somewhat awkward chat that he doesn’t feel left out by their romantic relationship—when immersed in a puzzle Sherlock is as indifferent as ever to John’s activities. As long as he doesn’t turn his phone off, it’s not hard to get away, and he’s inclined to hunt down even more private cases that won’t require his medical expertise or role as an illuminator just so that he can spend more time both with Greg and away from the poor air circulation of 221 as the summer gets hotter. 

Tonight they share a curry for supper, after John strips down to his usual vest and pants, and then settle in on the sofa to flip between the News at Ten and QI. Eventually, Greg gets bored of both and holds a hand up to John’s face, palm up. John smirks, knowing what that means, and slowly licks from the base of Greg’s palm to the tips of his fingers.

John pretty much never says no to Greg wanking him while he watches the news, and he’s already reaching for the elastic to tug his pants down when Greg hauls off and slaps him suddenly across the face instead. He gasps, eyes going wide, and before he can mentally recalibrate, Greg has him shoved down onto the floor, on his front, arms wrenched behind his back. He feels cool metal close around his wrists and then hears the ratcheting of Greg’s police cuffs—normally tossed on the end table with his keys and warrant card on the way in, but John hadn’t noticed their absence tonight. A spike of adrenaline courses through him, the sudden jolt from a situation requiring sweet and horny John to one demanding raw fear making his cock thicken without his permission.

“Scared?” Greg asks, tugging John up by his hair, his back arching as Greg’s still sat on his arse. He gasps a little, struggling for hair, and takes a moment to reply. It’s been a few months since Greg last ambushed him, and on a weeknight in the middle of a triple murder case he definitely didn’t see this coming.

“Should I be?” John asks, aiming to gauge how this scene’s going to go.

Greg chuckles darkly and shifts his weight, freeing John only enough to tug him up by the biceps, onto his knees. He’s a little off balance when Greg gets to his feet, comes around to face John, and reaches for his mouth, which opens instinctively. Greg laughs and grabs John’s tongue with his thumb and index finger, pulls it out of his mouth.

“Slut,” Greg teases, pinching John’s nose shut with the other hand. Stephen Fry is still rattling off witticisms in the background as Greg bends down and spits forcefully on John’s tongue. The muscle is too slippery to hold his grip, but it doesn’t matter. John’s hardening painfully quickly, overwhelmed by Greg’s sudden harsh demeanor, and he keeps his tongue out as Greg stands over him, smirking. “You realize you don’t have a damn clue what I’m planning to do to you, and you open wide for it anyway? I could fuck you sideways with half my mates watching and you’d beg for it, wouldn’t you? Answer me honestly, now.” 

John considers the question, taking Greg at face value for all that the disdainful attitude he’s displaying now is a bit of a role. They’ve never done any group play, but John’s blown strangers in front of a reasonably large crowd of men before, even if it was relatively dark at the time, and he’s not sure he’d actually say no to what Greg’s describing. After a few seconds, he nods, and Greg smacks his cheek. 

“Swallow, bitch.” The warm saliva is thick going down John's throat, but he doesn’t complain. Greg hauls him up to his feet then, frogmarches him towards the bedroom, and slams him chest-first into an open spot of wall. “Don’t get complacent,” Greg murmurs in his ear, “just because I’m nice sometimes.” He hears the metal teeth of a zipper opening, and then the fat head of Greg’s cock nudges against the cotton covering the crack of his arse. “I could fuck you up in so many ways, Watson.” Using his name makes it personal, somehow a little less like roleplay, and he twists his head, trying to get a glimpse of Greg’s expression. 

“I…” 

Greg’s hand claps over his mouth and nose, and John just makes a half-sound with his air cut off, twisting a bit against the way he’s pinned.  

“You trust me so easily, John,” Greg murmurs in his ear, thighs grinding John into the wall and keeping him from getting leverage. “No one will know if I hurt you more than you'd like.” Another wave of adrenaline hits him and John struggles hard again, fighting the hold, gasping when Greg gives him air again. A chance to safeword, too, he realizes, when Greg whispers one more thing, a quick addendum. “Need to say anything?”  

He considers, but the adrenaline surge isn’t panic, and the cocktail of fear and lust is still making his dick hard, driving him to see where this goes. “Yeah,” John replies. “I’d fucking kill you in your sleep.”  

Greg laughs and the hand claps back over his face, stealing his oxygen. “Would you, though? I know so much about you. Every twisted little fantasy.” He lets that thought simmer in John’s head a minute before he offers more air, two full inhalations. The hand then returns, tasting of salt, and John rubs his pelvis against the wall. “Would you really let Daddy go?” Greg purrs.

John grunts and bites Greg’s palm, but Greg just snickers as he lets John breathe again, reaching down and positioning himself to fuck between John’s sweaty thighs. “Might do,” John gasps, and Greg bites the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” he allows. “You might. You’re a smart man, Doctor Watson,” he purrs, stroking John’s face with deceptive tenderness as he thrusts into the tight space between John’s legs, rubbing up against his balls through the cotton barrier. “But a smart man with a deliciously dirty mind,” he adds, hand sliding to pinch John’s nose, three fingers sealing off his mouth. “A mind that gets off on being seen as a back alley slut with more talent for sucking cock than fixing patients.” 

Greg thrusts silently for a few beats, and John starts to feel light headed before the three fingers lift to give his mouth room to breathe, even as one slides inside, questing under and around his tongue. He breathes, mouth open, around it and another, slipping in to join the first, bending and pinching his tongue between them. After a moment of catching his breath, he tries to lick, and Greg groans pleasure in his ear. “Fuck, yeah. Gorgeous little bitch.” 

Goaded on, John pushes his tongue out further, tasting Greg’s palm, snaking against the invading fingers. The pinkie slides inside too, and there’s not much he can do with three fingers bent within the bracket of his teeth, breath huffing past Greg’s knuckles, but he sweeps his tongue against the skin as he can, frotting into the wall, taking his pleasure because he doesn’t think he’ll be given permission otherwise. 

John comes with a full-body series of jerks that wrench his shoulder a bit and make Greg’s cock slip free for a second, before he pushes back into his claimed space and finishes with a few quick thrusts of his own. They sink down to the floor as a unit, John’s jaw and shoulders aching, and Greg frees his wrists from the cuffs but doesn’t give him space, draped over him in a half hug, breathing in his ear as the Newsnight theme filters in from the sitting room. John finds that he doesn’t mind at all.

~*~

“Hey,” Greg murmurs, voice sleep-hoarse, when John opens his eyes the next morning to the weak early morning sunlight streaming in the bedroom window. “All right?"

John blinks, takes a moment to remember why he’s asking, and then shifts a little under the covers, pushing through the haze of fading dreams to assess his own mental state. “Yeah,” he decides, snuggling into Greg’s chest, kissing him gently. “Were you worried?”  

“Bit terrified,” Greg admits sheepishly. “I know we talked about this stuff, but…” 

“Fuck,” John frowns. He’d been a bit hazy after the scene, and had gone to bed shortly afterwards, letting Greg turn out the lights and the television and not bothering to brush his teeth. He only vaguely remembers Greg spooning up behind him at some point. “Did you sleep?” 

“A little. It’s all right, though. I just want to make sure you’re feeling okay.” 

“Yeah… I’m good. Shoulder’s a bit wonky, but that happens. You know I didn’t safeword?” John points out, reaching up to gently stroke Greg’s hair, his cheek. “And I did think about it. I checked in with myself. All above board.”  

Greg considers that, then kisses him. “Good. I know you’re a big boy, I just… sprung it on you, a bit. I went with an urge.” 

“You _have_ warned me, though. That you like that kind of thing. What about when you grabbed me as I was coming in that night? Same idea, and I liked that.” 

“Right… though this was more personal.” Greg scrubs a hand over his face, smiles. “Sorry. I don’t need to make a big deal of it. I’m making a problem where there isn’t one, aren’t I? Bad habit.” 

“Only if you’re making it a problem,” John smiles, kissing Greg's wrist before he lowers his hand. “Tops need aftercare too, though. That’s fine.” He slides his arms around Greg, snuggling up close, and reaches to stroke his hair. “You didn’t harm me,” he murmurs in Greg's ear. “You gave me a deliberate chance to safeword. You've told me about this kind of thing, several times, in advance. Specifically that you like to play with people’s real-life emotional stuff. That it excites you to do twisted shite. Do you remember how I’ve responded to that?” 

John can hear the smile even if he can’t see it. “Positively,” Greg admits. “How was that, though? Me fucking with you like that, about your kinks?” 

“It was a lot,” John admits. “You weren’t kidding about getting into a sub's head. I might need some more time to evaluate it… but you’re here in the morning, aren’t you? You’re still going to take care of me, and let me be your little boy sometimes, and not make fun of it or actually tell anyone I don’t want to know or use it against me for more than just pervy fun?” 

“Of course,” Greg agrees fiercely, tightening the hug.

“Then I think I’m okay. I’m willing to let you go there sometimes. It’s… honestly thrilling, that you own me like this. And that I can let you get at those darker kinks you have, even to the degree that I’m going to need more care after than usual. It hit close to home, talking about how much I need you these days. I might need a reminder sometimes that you really want to be doing these things with me. But I know that I ultimately have the last word, Greg. I’m not going to forget that.” 

“Don’t,” Greg agrees, kissing his neck. They both start when a text alert sounds, and another in quick succession from the other phone. John groans.

“His Highness, I presume.” 

“Well, I have to go to work either way,” Greg points out regretfully. “Come back tonight, though? Let me take care of you? I want to start on those reminders of just how much you give me,” he murmurs, nuzzling a bit into John’s neck.

“Yeah,” John agrees, smiling, and pulls back for a kiss. “Of course. Provided we’re not chasing any criminals about London, that is.” 

To that, Greg doesn’t bother to respond.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have been amazing on this story! Thanks for all the encouragement as I've written this, and I hope you enjoy this kind of sexy epilogue to Greg and John's tale.
> 
> And if you'd like to read more from me, [take this poll](http://www.poll-maker.com/poll408430x67704433-16) to help me decide which fic bunny gets the love!

Greg’s hand on the back of his neck is a steady, reassuring pressure as they slowly meander around the playspace, checking out the scenes already in progress at their second visit to the club. It’s no less bright and off-putting than last time, but it’s a little later in the evening, and thus more crowded, with plenty of other people milling amongst the dungeon furniture. They pass Taye from their discussion group in the fearplay class wrestling against the wall with a smaller woman who wears her hair in tight twists and has forearms covered in tattoos, and then a large man decked out in full leathers flogging an older woman in a rubber minidress. Greg’s quiet as they circle, but he slows to a stop an unobtrusive distance away from one scene in particular, rubbing the back of John’s neck as they watch. It’s hard to tell exactly what the dynamic is—the smaller man of the two definitely seems to be in charge, but he’s murmuring too low to his partner for them to catch the words. The partner is bearded and older, sitting in his pants on a chair with his legs spread, back close to the wall, and the top tips the chair back against the wall as they watch, planting his knee between the bottom’s thighs and pinning him in place with it as his hand drifts to the bottom’s throat.

“Sir,” John murmurs, blushing as their rule “pops up” at an inconvenient time as is not uncommon. “My dick is hard."

Greg’s fingers twist in his hair, tugging John’s head back and to the side so that he can see Greg’s wicked grin. “Yeah? Say that a little louder, sweetheart.” 

“I said… my dick is hard, Sir.” John’s sure his cheeks are on fire now, as it’s not loud enough for the couple playing to hear them given the respectful space they’ve left and the volume of music and conversation in the playspace, but another couple walking past them smirks a bit.

“Mmm. Is that what you want to call me, little boy? When you’re telling me that your dick is hard?” 

John bites his lip, his eyes falling shut for a moment as he breathes. Normally, Greg doesn’t particularly care which moniker he uses, so he’s intentionally pushing tonight. “No, Daddy."

“I didn’t think so,” Greg agrees. His voice is warm, and he rubs John’s cheek with his thumb. “Now tell Daddy again. And tell me why."

“My dick is hard, Daddy,” John repeats, forcing himself to maintain a steady volume. He invaded Afghanistan, dammit. This shouldn’t be so challenging. “Because what they’re doing looks like fun."

“Yeah,” Greg agrees cheerfully. “It does, doesn’t it?” He leads John away, then, hand dropping to the small of his back as he steers them to a cluster of seating and ultimately plops down on a loveseat. “Anything special you want to do with me tonight?” he asks as John sits down next to him. 

“Not really, Daddy” John considers. “I want you to decide.” They aren’t the only people sitting in the cluster, but no one really pays them much attention. At least, they aren’t when Greg slips his thumb into John’s mouth, and then his focus narrows considerably. 

“There’s my good lad,” Greg coos, smiling as John starts to suck on the tip of his thumb, teeth grazing against the skin. “Think you might let me do something a bit naughty to you, then?"

John’s eyes flick submissively down from his face, but it’s only feigned shyness. He sucks a bit harder, pulling more of Greg’s thumb in and scraping deliberately with his teeth. Greg laughs warmly and cups the back of John’s head with the other large hand.

“I thought you might like that. Are you going to show all these nice people how you like to make a mess of Daddy’s trousers?” he teases, and John deliberately does _not_  let his eyes stray to anyone sitting nearby. He focuses on Daddy’s face instead, with a little half-protesting whimper. Greg’s smile doesn’t falter, and he pushes his thumb deep this time. The digit forces past the tight ring of John’s lips, bending and pushing his tongue down, and John’s eyes widen in a silent plea as he hollows his cheeks.

“Good slut,” Greg purrs. “That’s my baby boy.” His fingers grip under John’s chin, and he shakes John’s head gently from side to side, showing the control he has over John’s movements. Unlike the surprise brutality he’s shown from time to time in roleplay, Greg’s face is all gentle Daddy now, but it doesn’t mean he's any less dominant. John shivers as Greg guides John’s head down towards his chest, shielding him slightly as his thumb pushes further and just barely breaches John’s throat, his mouth stretched wide and his bottom teeth pressing into the meat of Greg’s palm. The childish feeling of sucking a thumb is gone, but he doesn’t feel any less helpless as Greg holds him there for a minute, then twists his hand and works his index finger in. He spreads thumb and forefinger so that they form a kind of bit in John’s mouth, wedged where his wisdom teeth used to be, and he breathes heavily, unable to suck and glad no one can see his face like this, drool starting to pool behind his bottom lip and threatening to drip onto the web of Greg’s skin.

“I hope you’re wearing your red pants,” Greg bends and murmurs into his ear. “I’m going to touch your penis soon.” John sucks in a sharp breath through his mouth, his tongue flicking uselessly against his lip. “It’s too bad about the safer sex rules here. I’d like to make you eat your mess after. I’d like to feed it to you while all these people watch.” John keeps breathing, his hips squirming a little in his enforced hunch. He keeps silently spinning pictures in his mind, thrusting minutely against nothing, until a thin trail of clear liquid finally does overflow the cup his mouth forms and drips onto Greg’s hand. “That’s it,” Greg groans encouragingly near his ear. “Dirty little comeslut.” John’s not even _doing_  anything, but he whimpers and bucks a little nonetheless. His tongue flicks in his mouth and more saliva escapes, wetting Greg’s hand. “You’re gagging for it, aren’t you? Daddy’s gonna fuck your face when we get home. And you’re going to rub your little cock and say please for Daddy’s load, aren’t you?"

John whimpers and nods enthusiastically, watching more beads of drool helplessly build up on Greg’s skin and trying not to bite too hard. A minute more, though, and Greg suddenly pulls his fingers out and smashes his hand up against John’s face, forcing his head up, squeezing his cheekbones hard enough to hurt and then sliding over his face, wiping away John's saliva onto his own skin. It’s messy and kind of gross, but John’s breathing hard and Greg slaps his face and looks like he wants to maul him. John would beg, he thinks as Greg tips him back against the arm of the loveseat and drives the palm of his hand against John’s cock. He whines as Greg’s hand _twists_ , and a few tears break loose.

“Give,” Greg hisses. “Give it to me, boy,” he demands, and then he’s kissing John hard and wrenching his jeans open, his hand pushing inside, and John’s coming hard and unexpected even before said red pants are revealed. Greg growls his pleasure, squeezing and tugging at John’s cock past the point of pain, until he’s crying into Greg’s mouth and begging helplessly without words. Greg covers John with his body then, almost too hot and too heavy to breathe, but it’s somehow absolutely perfect. 

~*~ 

When they get home that night, it’s past midnight, but neither of them are particularly tired. John’s only half little, but still fully in subspace. He’s grateful when Greg sees it, stows his bag, and has John kneel at the foot of the bed with his hands folded behind his back, nearly touching opposite elbows. There’s a slight pull at the back of his neck with his head bowed, and he settles easily into a calm place, eyes closed, for as long as Greg needs him there. When Greg lifts his head, he opens his eyes expecting to perform the blowjob that had been teased at earlier and instead finds the bed decorated with one of Greg’s dark green bath towels, a pack of alcohol wipes, and the knife case from his toy box, open. John’s breath hitches.

“Yes,” he whispers before he even knows what’s tumbling out of his mouth. Greg grips the back of John's neck hard and bends for a claiming kiss. 

“No obligations,” Greg murmurs anyway, checking in, and John nods.

“You know I’ve wanted this, Sir. Daddy. Please." 

“All right,” Greg agrees. “I don’t want this to be about fearplay tonight. Or a mindfuck. I want to stick to my purpose. Is that all right?” 

This time, John gifts him with a lazy smile. “Like I said. _Please_. Cut me, Daddy.” Now it’s Greg’s breath hitching, and he hisses out the exhale.

“Fuck,” he exclaims succinctly, and John can’t help but laugh, nuzzling his thigh. 

“Well you did tell me I had to ask for it, the first time you showed me the knives,” he points out. “So how do you want me?"

“On your back. Get naked and comfortable. I’m going to wash my hands. Choose one knife that you want me to cut you with tonight and put it on the towel next to you. Put the case on the nightstand.” John nods and waits until he’s walking to the en suite before rising, thoughtfully considering the case as he strips and sits on the bed. The hunting knife is gorgeous, and it’s a tough choice, but he picks the dagger for tonight, laying it out reverently on the towel and then settling on his back with his arms loose at his sides. A minute later the running water cuts off and Greg comes back in, bending first over John and balancing on his forearms to kiss him gently, taking his time. John’s back to being quite floaty when Greg stands again, taking the knife and wiping it down first with alcohol.  

“Spread the towel out under your back,” he orders, and John does as he’s told and then hisses just a bit as another cool wipe swipes across his chest. “I’m going to cut you here,” Greg says, a statement not a question, but he gives John time to respond if he needs to. He just looks up at Greg and licks his lips, consent implied as he laces his hands behind his bed and waits. Greg seems to need his own moment, standing there watching John, just breathing as they hold eye contact between them. He climbs onto the bed then, straddling John’s hips and keeping his lower body immobile as he spreads a hand over John’s upper pec and shoulder and holds the knife over his sternum. “Breathe for me,” he murmurs, the tip of the knife just barely touching John’s skin. He does, and as he exhales, he feels the sharp edge trail along his skin, Greg’s eyes still locked on his. 

“Please,” John sighs, barely able to verbalize. The cut doesn’t bleed at first, but then he feels the wet beading up along the line Greg has left. 

Greg murmurs a soft, indulgent “Yes,” and traces another steady line at a diagonal to the first. The cuts start below where the collar of a t-shirt would fall, and each arcs downward, stinging lines that have much more emotional weight than they do physical pain. This is private, just for them. The cuts are shallow and unlikely to scar—maybe they’ll negotiate something different, in the future, but John still knows he’ll be able to feel them for a long time. Greg gives him five long lines, breathing in cycles with him so that John imagines he’s pulling in Greg’s own air and then feeding it back to him on the exhale, before he puts the knife aside on a tissue on the nightstand, and then reaches for a box of blue latex gloves John hadn’t noticed. He’s calm, breathing easy though he can definitely feel the burn of opened skin. When Greg presses down on his chest, though, his gloved palms forcing steady and even pressure along with a more intangible energy through John’s body, he cries out in a long thready moan.

Greg watches him with a terrible intensity, seeming to feed off John’s pain, and before he really knows what’s happening he’s crying, shaking under Greg’s palms. “Daddy,” John mumbles, and Greg growls fierce and protective, licking his tears.

“My boy,” Greg murmurs, pushing down harder one last time before his hands lift and John feels like a significant weight goes with them. He blinks up at Greg in a bit of awe, and thinks loopily that he wants to capture the smile the man gives him in return and keep it tucked away in a private place where it’s his alone. Of course, Greg gives him all the aftercare he needs as he buzzes along, high on the headspace, cleaning and bandaging his cuts and putting away the supplies before he bundles John up into his arms and snuggles him fiercely under the blankets. But John doesn’t pay too much attention to anything other than his own sense of simultaneous pride and safety, and the adrenaline that feels quite perfect in the moment. He’s marked and happy, and Daddy will take care of it.

 

 


End file.
